When I Look at You
by mille libri
Summary: Ferelden during a Blight seems an unlikely setting for a love story. But love finds a way to grow in the most unlikely places.
1. Ostagar

_I've been debating whether to post this for a long time - I wrote it almost three years ago, in the first flush of Dragon Age obsession, and then it fell to the back burner as other stories began crowding forward. This is mostly older work, therefore, but I like how it came out, and, more to the point, I've realized that if I never post it, I'll never finish it, and I would very much like to finish it. This is a Cousland/Alistair romance playthrough, so if that's not your cup of tea, feel free to hit the back button. :) Also, most of the time I am happy to accept constructive criticism (and please, do feel free to note any typos!), but since I've written 90,000+ words of this story already, I'm unlikely to make any substantive changes, so please keep that in mind. Many thanks to the Cheeky Monkeys for encouragement and to Oleander's One for her support!_

* * *

Una Cousland looked around at the Tevinter ruins she was walking through. Once upon a time these must have been grand halls, filled with beauty. Now chunks of stone lay all around; the Wilds were in the process of taking back their space.

"So this is Ostagar," Una said. Duncan nodded briefly, but said nothing. He had grown increasingly less conversational as they'd approached the camp.

She was staring up at the Tower that reached into the sky over all of it when Duncan grabbed her wrist. Una stopped walking and looked up, realizing that in her distraction she had almost run right into the King of Ferelden. She blushed furiously, and Cailan laughed. Una remembered meeting him a few times before, when she'd gone to Denerim with her father. Memories of the destruction at Highever Castle washed over her. She blinked as her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, what did you say, Your Majesty?"

"You seem distracted, my lady. I … hope your family is well?"

"Well?" Una looked up disbelievingly at the King. He looked quite serious. "Do you mean you don't know?"

Cailan frowned. "Know what? We've been expecting the Teyrn any day now. Fergus has been most anxious."

"My father … my father isn't coming," she said, trying to hold back the tears. "He and my mother are dead. As are Fergus's wife and child, and the rest of our people. Duncan and I are the only ones who made it out of the castle." The King looked shocked and bewildered. "Arl Howe attacked us!" she said.

"Rendon Howe? My dear lady," Cailan said, looking at Duncan doubtfully. "Surely you must be mistaken."

But Duncan shook his head. "It is true, Your Majesty. Howe waited until the young man had taken all the troops with him, and then he attacked the castle, slaughtering everyone he found there. The Teyrn and his wife …" He looked at Una sympathetically.

Cailan's jaw dropped. "I can't believe Arl Howe could be so … This is stunning. My deepest sympathies, my lady," he said to Una, his face softening as he turned toward her. "You have my word that this will be looked into as soon as the battle is over. The Teyrn and Teyrna will be avenged, I swear it." He crossed his arm to his shoulder, bowing to her.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Una said, trying to hold back the tears. It had never occurred to her that Cailan wouldn't already know what had happened. "Do you— Do you know where my brother is? I have to tell him." Her voice quivered, and she couldn't get the images of her nephew and sister-in-law out of her mind.

"I'm afraid Fergus and his men are on patrol in the Korcari Wilds and won't be back until after the battle," Cailan said. "I'll do my best to see to it that he finds you as soon as he's back."

Una was torn. She had so looked forward to throwing herself into her big brother's arms and sharing her grief with him. But she hadn't relished having to tell him about his wife and child, much less their parents, and didn't entirely mind the reprieve. She felt Grenli press his big body against her knee and rubbed the dog's head with her knuckles. Thank Andraste for Grenli. She didn't know what she'd have done without him.

The King's voice broke into her thoughts. "The Grey Wardens and the King of Ferelden, side by side! It will be glorious," he was saying to Duncan. "Just like the old legends."

"Your Majesty, I wish you would wait for the reinforcements—either from Redcliffe or the rest of the Grey Wardens from Orlais." Duncan sounded weary. "It is unwise to be hasty when there is a Blight to defeat."

"I don't even think this is a true Blight," Cailan complained. "I wanted to see the dragon at the head of the horde and take it down." His eyes took on a faraway look. Then he glanced back at Una. "But you must be tired after your long journey and everything you've been through, and I must get back to Teyrn Loghain before he sends a search party out for me. Until the battle!" he called, his armor clanking as he walked away.

Una had yet to participate in a real battle, but she remembered—all too vividly—the attack on Highever Castle. There had been nothing of glory in that. Only blood and ugly death. Perhaps real battle was different? She knew her father and Fergus both looked strangely exhilarated when talking of their battles. Maybe it was a man thing. She didn't know, but something in Cailan's bluff overconfidence was concerning to her.

She said as much to Duncan as they walked toward camp. He said little, really only grunted, but he seemed to agree with her, and her worry grew.

As they reached the entrance to the main camp, Duncan paused, looking at Una not unkindly. The girl had been through a lot, he thought, and yet she was handling it well. The brain was busy behind the young face, and over time she was talking less and observing more. Her parents would be proud.

He gave Una orders to stay in the camp, and to seek out Alistair when she had finished her explorations. As he watched her move away in an awkward lope, he wondered what they would make of each other. Alistair was a strong and talented young man, but not used to women. This girl would bowl him right over.

Meandering through the camp, Una felt only a slight interest in the goings-on about her. Knowing she wouldn't be able to find Fergus until after the battle, everything up to the fighting seemed like filler, although she was curious about the ritual Duncan had mentioned. She chatted with a mage named Wynne, did some trading with the quartermaster, then went in search of the other Grey Warden Duncan had told her to look for, assuming he would be some kind of older fighter like Duncan himself.

She followed the pointing finger of a camp guard and came upon a young man—only a few years older than she was, by the looks of him—chatting with a mage. Could this be Alistair? She had a moment to watch him as the two concluded their conversation. The mage was clearly hostile, while the Warden managed to keep his temper and get in a few good-humored digs. He was a good-looking man, blond and tanned. His nose was strong and prominent, and his light brown eyes twinkled. As she listened, Una was struck by his sense of humor, which seemed much like those of her family. Una thought with relief that at least she'd be able to talk to him, maybe joke a bit. It might feel more like being home. Duncan was nice enough, but so solemn that she always felt like a chastened child around him.

The mage eventually stormed off in a huff, brushing past Una with an undeservedly rude word. Alistair turned his gaze on Una, and she felt a jolt of lightning as their eyes met. She hadn't been expecting that, not at all, and it was all she could do to remember to breathe.

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," Alistair said, grinning a bit, but there was sadness behind the smile.

"Does it?" she asked, collecting her thoughts with an effort. "I think someone forgot to tell your mage friend."

"Every party has to have a few sour faces disapproving of everyone else's fun," he said. "I'm Alistair."

"Una."

"Duncan's new recruit, right?" He held out his hand.

She shook it, feeling a wave of heat sweep through her at his touch, her heart pounding. _Oh, this is bad timing,_ she thought, trying to pull herself together, floundering for something, anything, to say_. _"How did you know? That I'm Duncan's new recruit?"

"There aren't a lot of women in the Grey Wardens."

"And I take it you would like there to be?"

"Would that be a bad thing? … Not that I'm some drooling letcher, or anything." He groaned, covering his face with his hand. "Please, stop looking at me like that."

They both laughed. The situation definitely had promise, Una thought. At least working with him would not be boring. As her eyes flickered over his handsome face, she thought distracting would probably be a better word.

"Have you fought any darkspawn?" he asked, looking at her seriously.

"No, never," she said. "Have you?"

He nodded. "Just once. And I'm not in any rush to do it again. They're disturbing."

"How so?"

"They look like men … but they're corrupted. Blotchy and covered with nasty growths and things."

"Sounds unpleasant," she said.

"To say the least."

"Have you been a Grey Warden long?"

"Only about six months," he said. "Before that, I was in the Chantry, training to become a Templar. Duncan thought my skills might be useful and conscripted me. The Revered Mother was fit to be tied," he added, chuckling.

"I'll bet. The Templars seem pretty possessive."

"You can say that again. But I never wanted to be a Templar, anyway—didn't have much choice in the matter—so I was happy to leave." Alistair started to say something else, then seemed to think better of it. "We should get back to Duncan," he said. Was it her imagination, or did he sound somewhat reluctant? She hoped he wanted to keep talking to her instead, and chided herself for being a romantic fool.

"I look forward to traveling with you," she said, meaning it. He reminded her of Fergus. If Fergus was incredibly handsome and definitely _not_ her brother.

Alistair blinked. "You do? That's a switch." With which cryptic comment, he turned and led the way toward Duncan's fire.

As they walked, Alistair studied the girl. He couldn't quite believe this was Duncan's recruit. She looked young. Too young to be fighting darkspawn. But in all the time he'd known Duncan, Alistair had never known him to misjudge a person. There must be something there under those wide eyes. They were a curious color, Alistair thought, hazel, but so light they might have been gold. Tilted, like a cat's. And huge in her face. All her features were large—the wide, generous mouth, the strong nose—but they fit, and formed a striking combination. And she was tall. Taller than Alistair himself, he had to admit, although just barely. He was taller than most men, and had never met a woman as tall as he. Certainly not one who was also as slender and trim as this one. She walked awkwardly; he expected her to trip on her own feet at any moment. But she was clearly confident, and it was nice to meet someone who shared his sense of humor. Duncan mostly shook his head and sighed at Alistair's jokes, but Una had caught his comments and thrown them right back. He'd be interested to see how she fought, Alistair thought as they reached Duncan.

They were joined at Duncan's fire by the other recruits, Daveth and Jory. Daveth's face lit up at the sight of the young woman, and he sidled close to her, not seeming concerned that he only came to her shoulder. Jory, on the other hand, appeared quite discomfited by her presence, and especially by her height. He clearly didn't like looking up at a woman.

Una, lapsing into the silent watchfulness her mother had always encouraged her to do more of, noticed Duncan's eyes flicker quickly from herself to Alistair and back again. A speculative frown crossed his face. Una had hoped her intense reaction to Alistair would escape Duncan's observation, but she had a sinking feeling Duncan could tell exactly what was going on in her mind.

* * *

_The Cheeky Monkeys suggested that, since this is old writing (for me, anyway), it might be interesting to see what I would do differently if I were writing it over today. The biggest change I'd have made to this chapter is not having the instant spark, which has become so overused in these tales, and I'd have given Duncan and Cailan more personality. _


	2. Morrigan

_Thank you all for the warm reception! I'm still nervous about this one, but hopefully I'll get less so as we get farther into the story. _

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Duncan sent the four of them out into the Wilds to collect vials of darkspawn blood and find some treaties the Grey Wardens had signed with various factions long years ago—and had left, for some unknown reason, in the midst of the Wilds.

Una found herself taking the lead of the little group. Dough-faced Ser Jory was willing enough, but preferred to follow. Daveth, the former cut-purse, was more of a guerrilla fighter, not much of a leader. Alistair hung back a bit also, although she thought that was probably to see what the rest of them would do.

As they moved deeper into the Wilds, they found darkspawn in plenty, filling their vials quickly. Una didn't find her first experience with darkspawn as disturbing as she had feared she would. They were creatures to fight, albeit smelly and disgusting, and fighting was something she did well. She remembered the long hours in the training circle with Father and Fergus with a mixture of sorrow and pride, and wished she had some way to tell her father how grateful she was for her years under his tutelage.

The chest in which the Warden treaties were supposed to be kept was harder to find. Eventually they located it, but the chest was broken and the treaties missing.

Una knelt down by the chest, searching for any trace of the papers. Her head snapped up when a voice came out of nowhere.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?" It was a smooth, female voice, cultured but cold.

Standing up, Una looked in the direction of the voice. There, climbing over a pile of rocks, was an exotic creature—a woman, but she moved and looked almost more like a cat. She wore only the briefest scraps of fabric, arranged to fall not unattractively in strategic locations. Coming closer to them, the woman continued, "Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" She stopped, crossing her arms and staring at all of them. "What say you? Scavenger … or intruder?"

When none of the men spoke up, Una took a step forward. "I am a Grey Warden, and the Wardens once owned this Tower."

The woman seemed amused. "The Wilds have claimed this desiccated corpse long since." She strode through the group of them, all three of the men hastily falling back to allow her to pass. "I have watched your progress for some time. You fight … adequately. Turning to look at Una, she said, "Particularly you. Strange to see a woman fight so fiercely. And now here you are, disturbing shadows better left alone. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her. She looks Chasind," Alistair said in a low voice. "Others may be nearby."

"Ohh," mocked the woman, "you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

"Yes," drawled Alistair, looking grim, "swooping … is bad."

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, that's what she is," Daveth broke in, with barely controlled panic. "She'll turn us all into toads!"

"'Witch of the Wilds,'" the woman snorted. "What kind of mindless imbecile is frightened by a mere story?" She looked at Una. "Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine." For a moment, she sounded to Una like a little girl trying to make a friend.

Una glanced around. None of the men seemed to offer her much guidance, so she said, "I'm Una."

"You may call me Morrigan. If you wish." The little girl seemed to peek out again. Then Morrigan crossed her arms, and the little girl vanished. "You sought something in that chest. Something that is here no longer."

"'Here no longer'?" Alistair broke in, feeling that as the senior Grey Warden of the party, he should try and take back some of the momentum. "Did you take them? You must be some kind of …" he looked for appropriately crushing words, "sneaky witch-thief!" _'Sneaky witch-thief'?! Great, Alistair. Way to sound intelligent._

"How very eloquent," Morrigan purred. She looked back at Una, clearly not seeing Alistair as a viable conversational partner. "How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them," Alistair said before Una could respond.

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them," said Morrigan, and Una could see a flash of irritation in the other woman's eyes. "The Grey Wardens have no authority here. I am not threatened." She looked pointedly at Una, waiting.

"There are four of us, heavily armed and armored," Jory put in. "Does that not threaten you?"

Morrigan glanced briefly, contemptuously, at Jory, before looking back at Una, her eyes challenging.

Not sure what game was being played, but sensing that being direct was the way to go, Una asked, "Where have the papers gone?"

"My mother has them."

"Your mother?"

"Do you imagine I sprung from a mushroom? Or, perhaps, a toad?" Una noticed that all three men took a step back at the mention of toads. Morrigan looked amused. "If you wish, I will take you to my mother. 'Tis not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers, if you like."

Una looked at Alistair. He frowned, looking around at the shadowy, overgrown wilderness. "We need those treaties, but I mistrust this … Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too convenient."

When it appeared no further decision-making was forthcoming from Alistair, Una turned back to Morrigan. "Why are you interested in helping us?"

Morrigan seemed surprised by the question. "Why not?" she asked after a moment, shrugging. "I do not meet many people here. Are you all so mistrustful?"

"I say we go with her," Una said.

"She'll put us all in the pot, she will," Daveth said, sending a surprisingly rabbity glance toward Morrigan. Una had thought he was a bit braver than that, actually, but sometimes magic undid the most stalwart hearts, she reflected. Her old friend Ser Gilmore had never flinched in a fight, but the mere mention of maleficar had him reaching for his lucky rabbit's foot in a panic. Poor Rory, Una thought, remembering the last time she'd seen him, stalwartly defending the doors of the castle. That rabbit's foot hadn't helped him in the end.

"She'll cook us for supper!" Daveth's strident voice brought her back to the present.

Jory snapped, "If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'll be a nice change."

"Suit yourselves," Morrigan said. She turned away, as though it didn't matter to her if they followed her or not. Una was pretty sure that was an act, but she followed anyway, hearing the clanking of the men's armor as they brought up the rear.

Morrigan led them to a little cobbled-together hut in the midst of the Wilds, where an old woman waited, her eyes glittering and shrewd in her wrinkled face.

"Greetings, Mother," Morrigan said. "I bring before you four Grey Wardens who—"

"I see them, girl," the old woman said, her voice forceful. She looked them over with a piercing glance. "Hm. Much as I expected."

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair asked, sounding amused. Una thought he sounded incredibly sexy, too, which surely wasn't right for this time and place. _Oh, Una, you foolish girl,_ she chided herself. Turning back to the older woman, she surprised a raised eyebrow and a small smile, as though the woman knew exactly what she'd been thinking. Una's estimation of these women, and thus her sense of the potential danger of the situation, went up a notch.

"You are asked to do nothing, least of all believe," said the older woman sharply to Alistair. "Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide. Either way, one's a fool."

Una looked at the old woman with renewed interest. It was a paraphrase, but the sentiments were those of her favorite general, Lord Eidric Cairados. His _Treatise on Warfare_ had been the most well-worn book on her shelf.

"She's a witch, I tell you," Daveth hissed. "We shouldn't be talking to her."

"Quiet, Daveth. If she's really a witch, do you want to make her angry?" Jory snapped. It was the most useful thing he'd said yet, Una reflected.

"There's a smart lad," said the old woman, in a tone that indicated that neither Daveth nor Jory held any interest for her. "Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things." What did she mean by that? Alistair thought. He'd think of those words again later that night, and wonder what the old apostate had seen in the men's futures. "But it is not I who decides," the old woman continued. "Believe what you will. And what of you?" She stepped forward, a new interest in her voice, looking up into Una's eyes. Again, Una felt the power of the other woman's gaze and knew that her thoughts were being read. "Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these boys do?" She waited for the answer.

Una met the older woman's gaze without flinching. As directness had worked with the daughter, so, she suspected, it would work with the mother. "I'm not sure what to believe."

"An answer that contains more wisdom than it implies," said the older woman, but the regard of her eyes on Una changed, becoming deeper, though somewhat less piercing. "So much about you is uncertain," she went on, stepping closer to Una. "And yet I believe— Do I? Why, it seems I do." Her upraised eyebrow and the faint hint of a smirk dared Una to ask what she'd meant.

"Is it true, then? Are you a Witch of the Wilds?" Alistair asked, breaking into the moment between the two women.

"'Witch of the Wilds'," the old woman scoffed. "Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon!" She threw her head back and laughed, doing a creditable impression of a crazy old Wilder woman, but Una was not fooled. Morrigan, meanwhile, dropped her head into her hands and groaned in embarrassment. Una sympathized. Her own mother had made her feel like that on many occasions.

"They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother," Morrigan protested.

The old woman sobered. "True. They came for their treaties, yes?" She looked at Alistair. "Before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago." She went into her hut, returning with a sheaf of papers. "I have protected these," she said, handing them to Una.

"You did?" Alistair asked in surprise.

"And why not?" The arch look and the smirk faded from the old woman's face, and she looked deeply into Una's eyes. "Take the treaties to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize."

"How do you know?" Una asked, disturbed.

"Do I?" The sly secretiveness was back in the woman's eyes. "Perhaps I am just an old woman with a penchant for moldy papers." She laughed again. "Do not mind me. You have what you came for."

"Time for you to go then," Morrigan said sharply and with unconcealed relief.

"Don't be ridiculous, girl," said her mother, and now the private joke in her eyes was hidden from Morrigan as well. "These are your guests."

"Oh," said Morrigan. Reluctantly, she continued, "Very well. I shall … lead you out of the woods. Follow me." They trooped behind Morrigan as she led them through the wilderness. Reaching the camp, Una turned to thank the other woman, but she had melted into the Wilds. Standing there, Una felt that this wasn't the last time they'd see Morrigan. She wondered under what circumstances the next meeting would be.

* * *

_A/N: If I had this chapter to write over again, I would stick less closely to the game dialogue and opt for altered dialogue rather than so much reaction ... and I wouldn't switch perspectives as often. (You could ask why I don't just revise it ... but then it wouldn't be the same story. Major revision has never been my strong suit, for precisely that reason!)_


	3. Joining

_Thanks for the encouragement, all of you! I really appreciate it!_

* * *

They walked toward Duncan's fire, not speaking. Una, mindful of her father's training, carefully considered what she had learned of her companions. Daveth was a rogue fighter—not a leader, but good at flanking and stealth. Magic and superstition had a powerful hold over him, however. Jory was spoiled. He liked his comforts, and whined about anything that took him out of them. He was a good, strong fighter, with little concern for the terrors of magic, but would never put himself forward and would avoid discomfort whenever possible.

Alistair—well, there was just no getting around it, Alistair was the most attractive and desirable man she'd ever met. His jokes, his already-obvious habit of fixing his hair after every battle, the confidence in his fighting stance were all fascinating to her. She forced herself to consider him objectively, however, hearing her father's voice in her memory. "Pup," he'd said, "you must care about the people you fight with. You must care enough to see them for who they truly are. Once you stop recognizing their flaws, you become dangerous to them. And vice versa."

With that in mind, then, she considered Alistair as dispassionately as she could. When fighting, he was powerful, thoughtful about tactics, and alert to the shift of the battle's center. Outside of combat … she assumed he had hung back through most of the Wilds on orders, to watch the rest of them. But he had also stayed in the background as much as he could during the encounter with Morrigan and her mother. Una wondered what his training had been before the Chantry. He seemed cowed, in some ways. Unwilling to put himself forward. And it hadn't bothered him at all when she had taken the lead with the two apostates. She suspected there was a sharp brain in there, but that he'd never been pushed to make a lot of use of it. She'd have to see about that, she thought. _Oh, Maker, listen to me, trying to change the man already_, she thought, rolling her eyes at her own foolishness.

Alistair had, indeed, been charged with watching all of them. He'd seen Una's awkward lope disappear the moment her sword cleared its scabbard, the way she paused to scope the field before attacking, the directness with which she took charge of the team. He'd also been impressed by the way she'd handled the apostates. His own Templar training had kicked in, and he'd been little more useful than Daveth or Jory, but Una had been straight-backed and unafraid as she'd faced the other women. Duncan had done it again, Alistair thought. The two men were decent fighters, sure. But the girl—the _woman_, he corrected himself, for no mere girl fought like that—was a find. Why her noble parents had let her go, Alistair couldn't imagine. He hoped she would survive the Joining.

In front of Duncan, Daveth and Jory postured a lot, acting as though they'd been the leaders. Una's mouth quirked up sardonically. Men were always doing that—the ones she'd sparred with, and beaten, at the castle had always felt the need to pretend that they'd let her win. Looking at Duncan's shrewd eyes, she could tell he didn't entirely believe the story he was being fed. And Alistair caught her eye, grinning and shaking his head just slightly after a particularly pompous comment of Jory's. At least the two actual Grey Wardens didn't seem to think less of her because she was a woman, and a young one at that, Una thought in relief.

Alistair stayed behind at Duncan's fire when the other three were sent off to get ready for the Joining. "What did you think of our recruits, Alistair?"

"Daveth's good enough," Alistair said. "And willing. Takes direction well. Jory," he made a small face, "is not happy about this. Doesn't like fighting the darkspawn, doesn't like being led, doesn't want to put himself forward. Not a coward, exactly," Alistair said slowly, wanting to be fair, "but not … brave, either. Soft? Soft." He nodded. It was the right word.

"And … Una?"

Staring into the fire, Alistair said, "She's amazing, Duncan! A born leader, a natural fighter—she'll be an excellent Warden." His enthusiasm flagged a bit at the thought of the Joining, and he said more softly, "I hope she gets the chance."

Duncan's eyes were sharp as they rested on Alistair and caught the reddening of the younger man's cheeks. He had already noted the change in Una's breathing when Alistair looked at her. He masked a small smile by reaching into a pack for the Joining materials. So the sparks were already flying. Intriguing, Duncan thought. He clapped Alistair on the shoulder. "As do I. Will you go and make sure nerves aren't getting the better of our recruits while I finish the preparations?"

Alistair nodded, moving off to where the other three waited. Jory was complaining about the wait and the mystery and being dragged away from his young, pregnant wife in Highever. Daveth was taking Jory to task, reminding him of the importance of the Grey Wardens in ending the Blight. Una watched them both, her face impatient. All three turned when Duncan came up behind them, looking equally distressed.

As Duncan began to explain the ritual, the drinking of the darkspawn blood, Alistair observed the recruits' reactions. Jory was disgusted and terrified, looking about him for a way to avoid the unpleasantness. Daveth was disturbed but his face was set, determined to see the course through. Only Una's face was unchanged. Alistair wondered why, how she could be so unmoved.

Una didn't look forward to drinking the blood of the darkspawn any more than the others … but she had accepted the moment she took Duncan's hand and led him out of Highever Castle that she would do, without complaining, whatever was necessary to become the Grey Warden her father would have wanted her to be. To show reluctance would be to shame his memory.

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining," Duncan said, turning with the Chalice in his hand. "But these words have been said since the first. Alistair? If you would."

Alistair glanced at Una, then looked hastily away. The solemnity of the words and the importance of the ritual overcame his concern for the young girl with the wide golden eyes. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you." There was a silence, then Duncan lifted the Chalice, turning to Daveth. Daveth drank without hesitation. Then he crumpled to the ground, moaning in agony. His eyes rolled back in his head, he twitched once, and it was over. Una's eyes filled with tears and Alistair looked stricken.

"I am sorry, Daveth," Duncan said solemnly. Then, turning to the knight, "Step forward, Jory."

Panic-stricken, Jory drew his sword, stepping back. "But … I have a wife," he said. "A child! Had I known—"

"There is no turning back," Duncan said, his voice steely.

"No! You ask too much," Jory cried. "There is no glory in this!" His sword wavered in his hand, and he looked wildly around. Una was torn between pity and disgust, and felt foolish just standing there and doing nothing. She noticed Alistair had edged in between her and Jory. Was he trying to protect her?

Duncan drew his dagger. He easily parried Jory's sword thrusts. Closing with the knight, Duncan thrust the dagger into his belly. Catching Jory on his shoulder as the knight fell, he said softly and with deep feeling, "I am sorry, Jory."

Una realized she was clinging to Alistair's shoulder as she watched this. She didn't blame Duncan for what he had done—she blamed Jory, frankly, for not having the courage to follow through with what he had agreed to do—but she hated to see a life wasted. Alistair's hand covered hers and squeezed it reassuringly. She could feel the tension in him, and knew he didn't like it any better than she did. She let go of him, taking a step back, as Duncan eased Jory's still form to the ground, turning to her.

"The Joining is not yet complete," Duncan said, his voice sorrowful but firm. He handed the Chalice to Una, who took it in both hands. "You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint," Duncan said as she stared into the cup. "For the greater good." Without hesitation, she lifted the cup to her lips and drank deeply. Duncan and Alistair both stepped away from her as she fought to keep the liquid down, feeling the burning spread through her limbs. "From this moment forth," Duncan went on, his voice seeming to echo in her head, "you are a Grey Warden."

Then the pain hit. She doubled over, seeing visions of a screaming dragon, hearing voices shaft through her head, calling to her. She could almost understand what the voices were saying.

When she knew anything again, Duncan was cradling her head on his arm, and he and Alistair were gazing at her in concern. There was naked relief in Alistair's face as she sat up, her head beginning to clear, and, although well-hidden, relief in Duncan's eyes, too. "It is finished," he said. "Welcome."

Alistair reached down to help Una up. She resisted the urge to cling to his hand. Alistair didn't want to let her go, either. The distress he'd felt, watching her fall to the ground, was overwhelming, as was the happiness that bubbled through him when it was clear she was going to live. He felt guilty, feeling that way with the bodies of Jory and Daveth still lying there, but he couldn't help it. He was ridiculously glad that she had survived.

"When you have recovered somewhat," Duncan said, watching the two of them with carefully disguised interest, "Una, please join me at the Council table. The King has requested your presence."

"I'm fine," said Una. "I'm ready to go now."

"As you wish," Duncan said, inclining his head. He couldn't help but feel a certain pride in her resilience. "Alistair, will you—?" He gestured at the scene behind them. Alistair nodded, but his eyes lingered on Una as she walked away. He'd never known a woman could have that much courage and determination. Of course, he'd never known that many women. Maybe they were all like that … but he doubted it.

The Council table was surrounded by tense people. Una could feel it coming off them as she approached. Cailan turned when she came up, as did a dark-faced man in plate armor. Loghain Mac Tir, she thought in wonder. The Hero of River Dane! Loghain and King Maric had been responsible for driving the Orlesians out of Ferelden and taking the kingdom back. She didn't remember ever having met Teyrn Loghain, but she'd heard many stories from her father. She wondered if the Teyrn knew what had happened to her family. Maybe after the battle she could talk to him and he could help her see that Arl Howe got what was coming to him.

The King turned to her with a look of welcome, congratulating her on officially becoming a Grey Warden. He had fulsome praise for the order before being recalled to the matters at hand by Teyrn Loghain. Cailan turned back to the Council table with a sigh, looking over the map. He and Loghain, with the representatives of some of the other groups in camp, were arguing over the best set of tactics. Finally it was decided that Teyrn Loghain would hold his men in reserve until he saw a prearranged signal from the Tower of Ishal, at which time he and his troops would fall on the darkspawn.

Teyrn Loghain seemed unhappy about this plan, but was eventually prevailed upon to follow it. He told Cailan not to worry about the Tower, that his men would be there taking care of lighting the beacon. Cailan looked up and caught Una's eye, grinning at her. "I think we should send our best to accomplish this important task," he said, shifting his gaze to Duncan. "Have Alistair and your new recruit here stationed in the Tower to light the beacon." Duncan inclined his head, while Teyrn Loghain sputtered at the king about overreliance on the Grey Wardens.

Eventually the arguing died down. Una wondered how anything ever got done, if so many people's opinions must be appeased regarding every decision. Duncan touched her on the shoulder, motioning her toward his fire. They walked together. Una wanted to ask a number of questions, but the forbidding look on Duncan's face kept her silent.

Alistair was waiting at Duncan's fire. He looked at both of them, his face expectant and eager.

Duncan turned to face them both. "You heard the plan," he said to Una. "You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit."

"What?!" Alistair said, his mouth dropping open. "I won't be in the battle?"

Duncan looked at him sternly. "This is by the king's personal request, Alistair." There was an emphasis on "personal" that Una didn't understand, but Alistair clearly did. His face fell. "If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge."

"So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch," Alistair said with a noticeable sneer. "Just in case, right?"

Una looked at Duncan. "I agree with Alistair. We should be in the battle."

"That is not your choice," Duncan said to them both, biting his words off one at a time. "If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beacons are lit, then Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn … exciting or no."

Una looked down at her boots shame-facedly. A true soldier should not question the orders of the commander. Hadn't that been drummed into her head often enough by her father … _and_ her mother, who had considered herself the commander of the house?

"I get it, I get it," Alistair said with a sigh. Then he grinned. "Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."

"I think I'd like to see that," Una said.

Alistair turned his smile on her. "For you, maybe," he said. "But it has to be a pretty dress."

Duncan looked at the two young people in front of him, sighing. It was good that they could find humor in the darkness. He just hoped they could be serious long enough to complete the task in front of them. "It is time," he said gravely.

"Duncan," Alistair said. "May the Maker watch over you."

"May he watch over all of us," Duncan said.

Each of them clasped their right arms over their chests, bowing toward each other. Then Una and Alistair turned, heading toward the bridge to the Tower. Una felt a soft, wet nose nudge itself into her hand, and looked down. Grenli stood there, his solid bulk reassuring. He wore an expression she'd never seen before, and she knew she was now truly seeing the wardog in her pet.

* * *

_A/N: Not a tremendous amount I would change this time. This is the first full playthrough story I've done, but it feels familiar because I've read so many of them! I will say that I wrote it in one large chunk, so the chapter breaks here aren't necessary designed to be._


	4. Flemeth

_Moving right along! Thanks to all those of you reading and favoriting - I appreciate it!_

* * *

By the time they got there, the battle was in full swing, with flaming projectiles flying toward the bridge. Halfway across, the three of them were sent flying by the concussion of something smashing into the bridge. Getting to their feet, they kept running, finally reaching the base of the Tower to find a panicked mage running toward them.

"You're the Grey Wardens, right?" the mage gasped. Without waiting for an answer, he cried out, "They've taken the Tower!"

"Who?" Alistair shook the man, trying to get him to calm down some. "Who's taken the Tower?"

"The darkspawn," the mage said. "They've— They've killed everyone!"

Una and Alistair looked at each other in shock. What were darkspawn doing in the Tower? Calling for the mage to fall in with them, they started forward, battling their way through darkspawn all the way to the Tower steps. The mage, though clearly in shock, stuck with them as they went in, finding more darkspawn inside. Grenli was in his element, attacking and fighting. As they came to the second floor, Alistair shouted in Una's ear over the din, "Where did they come from? There aren't supposed to be any darkspawn this far from the battlefield!"

Una shrugged, shouting back, "You were complaining you wouldn't get to do any fighting, weren't you?" She understood now a bit more about the elation she'd seen on Cailan's face and in her father and brother after their battles. Her blood was up and she felt … invincible, her blade biting into the darkspawn left and right. She'd picked up a greatsword in one of the rooms on the first floor, and swinging its heft gave her a fierce joy.

Alistair looked at her, admiring the high color in her face and the fire in her golden eyes. "I suppose it is a bright side, at that," he said. "Come on—we've got to get to the top of the Tower to light that beacon!"

On the top floor, an ogre awaited them. They hacked into it together, Alistair climbing on top of it to plunge his sword into the ogre's chest and finish it off. He looked up at Una. "The beacon's over there, but we must have missed the signal. We have to light it now before it's too late!"

She nodded, running to the beacon and setting it alight. Down on the battlefield, the men saw it and a tremendous shout went up as they anticipated the fresh troops of Teyrn Loghain. But unbeknownst to all, when Loghain saw the beacon, he ordered his lieutenant, Ser Cauthrien, to sound the retreat instead. She stared at him with her mouth open, but he grabbed her wrist, hissing, "Do as I say!" And in her loyalty, she assumed he had a good reason, and she did as he ordered.

On the battlefield, men were slaughtered waiting for the reinforcements that never came. A giant ogre lifted the king, shaking him and finally slicing open his neck with a single savage blow. Enraged, Duncan used his sword and dagger to climb the ogre, sustaining a massive wound in his side before he managed to dig both blades so deeply into the creature that it collapsed. Near collapse himself, Duncan crawled to the body of his friend and king. He never saw the battleaxe that sent him into oblivion.

On the Tower, Una and Alistair knew none of this. All they knew was that once the beacon had been lit, a flood of darkspawn rushed out at them. Una saw Alistair fall under a pile of them, Grenli under another, and then nothing more as blackness closed over her.

When her eyes opened on a bright, sunny day, she was sure she was in the Fade. She started looking around for her parents. Instead, she saw the inside of a small rustic hut, and working on something at a wooden table was Morrigan.

Una sat up slowly, every muscle screaming. "Wh— Where am I?"

"Your eyes finally open," Morrigan said, not unkindly. "Mother shall be pleased."

"What happened?"

"Perhaps I should start at the beginning."

"That would be nice." Una put one hand to her head, feeling a bandage there. "I was on the top of the Tower of Ishal. Loghain? The battle?"

"The man who was to respond to your signal … quit the field," Morrigan said, choosing her words carefully. "All those he left on the battlefield were slaughtered."

Una stared at her. That must mean Fergus! Oh, Maker, she really was the last of the Couslands. And Duncan, and King Cailan … "The King?" she asked. Morrigan nodded. "Alistair?" she asked, almost afraid to hope.

"He is well. He has been most concerned for you."

"What about my dog?"

Morrigan's lip curled. "He has survived also. With a prodigious appetite, I might add."

Una breathed a great sigh of relief. With Fergus almost certainly dead, Grenli was the only family she had left. "How did we—" Una sat up. She put her hand to her head as a sudden pain stabbed through it. "How did we get here?"

"Mother rescued you."

"Why? I mean, um, that was very nice of her."

"I do not know that she will tell you that," Morrigan said, watching Una sharply.

"Hm." Una realized she was wearing only her smallclothes. "Morrigan? Do you know where my clothes and armor are?" Morrigan gestured to a chest in the corner. Una got up slowly, painfully, beginning to get dressed. Morrigan turned back to the table. Was she chopping vegetables? It seemed an odd thing for her to be doing. Una put a hand up to her head. Perhaps she was hallucinating?

At last Una buckled on the last piece of her armor, feeling more comfortable already. "Morrigan," she said again, waiting until the mage turned to her. "Thank you for everything."

Morrigan blinked, clearly unsure how to handle the thanks. "Mother did most of the work," she said stiffly. "But … you are welcome."

Una opened the door, stepping out into the daylight. It felt good to be on her feet again, and even better to feel Grenli's sleek head under her hand again. He'd rushed over to her as soon as she emerged, sniffing her hand in great concern. "I'm okay, boy." She went down on her knees, throwing her arms around the dog. "I think Fergus is gone, though. You and I are all that are left of the Couslands," she whispered to him, her voice trembling with unshed tears. Grenli licked her cheek, whining in shared sorrow. Una buried her face in the dog's shoulder for a long moment, then stood up, looking around for Alistair. He was standing by the marsh, staring off into the distance. Una could see the markings of tears on his handsome face.

Morrigan's mother stood there as well, but the older woman had turned to Alistair. "See?" she said to him. "Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."

His face went white when he saw Una, almost as though he was looking at a ghost. "You— You're alive. I … I thought you were dead for sure."

"I'm fine," she said. "I appreciate your concern." She lifted a hand to reach out to him, to take his hand, but he turned away from her, not seeing.

"Oh, this doesn't seem real," Alistair said. He was so glad to see that she was alive, but he still wished he wasn't—if only he'd been on the battlefield with all of them. Could he have saved Duncan? "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that Tower."

"Do not talk about me as if I were not present, lad," Morrigan's mother said, sounding almost amused.

"I'm sorry," Alistair said. "But what do we call you? You've never told us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless." She thought for a moment. "The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

Alistair's mouth dropped open. "_The_ Flemeth? From the legends?" He shook his head, feeling as if he was in the midst of a nightmare. "Daveth was right! You're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

"And what does that mean?" Flemeth asked tartly. "I know a bit of magic. And it has served you both well, has it not?"

"Why _did_ you save us?" Una asked. Alistair shot her a look. She supposed she sounded a bit blunt, but some questions needed to be asked.

"We can't have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we?" Flemeth said, chuckling. "Someone has to deal with these darkspawn." She looked at Una, her eyes challenging. "It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

"Of course not!" Una said.

"But we _were_ fighting the darkspawn!" Alistair said. "The King had nearly defeated them. Why would Loghain do this?"

"Now that is a good question," Flemeth said. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature." Una thought, shuddering, of Arl Howe and the slaughter of her household. "Perhaps," Flemeth went on, "Loghain believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The Archdemon," Alistair said grimly.

"Will you help us fight this Blight, Flemeth?" Una thought how little she knew about … well, anything. How could they go about this alone?

"Me?" Flemeth asked in smooth surprise. It seemed feigned to Una. "I am just an old woman who lives in the Wilds. I know nothing of Blights and darkspawn."

"Whatever Loghain's insanity," Alistair said, "he obviously thinks the darkspawn are a minor threat. We must warn everyone this isn't the case." Without his realizing it, he'd been drawn a little way out of the blackness that was enveloping him.

"And who will believe you? Unless you think to convince this Loghain of his mistake," Flemeth said, sneering just a bit.

"He just betrayed his own king!" Alistair's ire was up now. "If Arl Eamon knew what he did at Ostagar, he would be the first to call for his execution."

Una remembered Arl Eamon as a kind man who always had sweets in his pockets for Teyrn Cousland's little daughter. "Perhaps we could go to him, then," she said.

"Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar," Alistair said slowly. "He still has all his men. And he was Cailan's uncle," he pointed out. Una nodded. She had forgotten about that. "I know him—he practically raised me," Alistair went on enthusiastically. "He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet. Of course! We can go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"

Una was relieved to see him display some enthusiasm. "That sounds like an excellent idea," she said, smiling at him.

"Such determination. How intriguing," Flemeth cooed. Una felt again as though the older woman could see right into her head. It was an unpleasant sensation.

"I still don't know if Arl Eamon's help would be enough," Alistair said. "We can't defeat the darkspawn horde by ourselves."

"We need the rest of the Grey Wardens," Una said.

"I don't know how to contact them. Or if they're even on their way! We need to do something now," Alistair said desperately.

"You have more at your disposal than you think," Flemeth interjected.

"Of course!" exclaimed Alistair. "The treaties! Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other folk. They're obligated to help us during a Blight."

"I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows who else … this sounds like an army to me," said Flemeth.

Alistair looked to Una. "So can we do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places and … build an army?"

Una shrugged. "Why not? Isn't that what Grey Wardens do?" She thought, if she was with him, she might be able to move mountains.

"So you are set then?" Flemeth asked. "Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

"Yes. Thank you for everything, Flemeth," Una said.

"I do have one more thing to offer," Flemeth said. Una's heart sank. Here it comes, she thought. The payback for their lives.

Morrigan emerged from the hut. "The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we have two guests for the eve … or none?"

There was a twinkle in Flemeth's eye that Una didn't quite like. "The Grey Wardens will be leaving shortly, girl," she said. "And you will be joining them."

"Such a shame," Morrigan began. Then her head snapped around to look at her mother. "What?!"

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears." Flemeth gave a disturbing chuckle.

"Thank you, but if Morrigan doesn't want to join us …" Una's voice trailed off as Flemeth looked at her. It was obvious this was not a choice … for any of them.

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan interjected.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years," the older woman told her daughter. "Here is your chance. As for you, Wardens," her gaze raked Una and Alistair, "consider this repayment for your lives."

"Very well, we'll take her with us," Una said, nodding graciously.

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth," Alistair began, "but won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate." Una remembered that he had trained as a Templar. He sounded like one suddenly.

"If you don't wish help from us illegal mages, young man," said Flemeth, her voice very smooth and very deadly, "perhaps I should have left you on that tower."

"Point taken." Alistair sighed.

"Mother, this is not how I wanted this! I'm not even ready!"

"You must be ready," Flemeth said, and for once Una could feel the older woman was speaking the bald truth. "Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

"I—understand," Morrigan said, unwillingly.

"And you, Wardens? Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed."

"I understand," Una said. Her level look at the older woman was a promise.

"Allow me to get my things, if you please," Morrigan said, her tone testy. If this attitude kept up, Una thought, it was going to be a long Blight. Morrigan emerged from the hut, a pack and a staff on her back. "I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far, and you will find much you need there." An edge sharpened her voice as she went on. "Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours."

When it appeared Alistair had no response, Una said, "No, I prefer you speak your mind." Morrigan raised a disbelieving eyebrow, but something in her eyes seemed warmer suddenly.

Flemeth laughed. "You may live to regret that."

"Farewell, Mother," said Morrigan. "Do not forget the stew on the fire. I don't want to return to a burned-down hut."

"Bah! 'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area—along with my hut—swallowed up by the Blight."

"I— All I meant was—" Suddenly Morrigan the confident appeared like any other chastened daughter. Una remembered her own mother making her feel the same way.

"Yes, I know," Flemeth said. "Do try to have fun, dear."

* * *

_A/N: As you can tell, this was all written when I thought a playthrough story needed to follow the playthrough, beat by beat. That changes shortly, I promise._


	5. Lothering

_Many thanks to those of you reading and following along! I appreciate your enthusiasm!_

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With no further display of affection between mother and daughter they were off. Una, Alistair, and Grenli followed Morrigan. There was little talking. Morrigan made occasional comments that Una tried to respond to, but there was no reaching Alistair, who was lost in his grief and anger. At night, they set up tents—Una's and Alistair's together near one fire, and Morrigan's off to the side by herself. The mage explained to Una that she was used to being alone and preferred to retain some solitude. Una wasn't sure she cared, as long as the extra fire didn't cause them to attract darkspawn.

On the second day, they arrived in Lothering, and were immediately accosted by a group of brigands trying to soak them for money. Una grinned at the head brigand. "Do you really think you should be trying to steal from Grey Wardens?"

"Grey Wardens! You traitors killed the king, and there's a lovely nice big bounty on your heads." With an expression of great glee, the men attacked, while Una was still reeling from the surprising comment about the Grey Wardens.

They took out the brigands with ease. "What was that all about?" Alistair asked. Una was relieved he was showing any interest at all in what was going on around them.

"I assume we'll find out as we move farther into town." Una shrugged. "And there's no time like the present."

They walked toward Lothering, which was teeming with refugees from the darkspawn-infested Wilds. It was noisy, smelly, and filled with the sadness of people who had lost everything. Una's eyes welled with tears as she looked around.

"Ah, Lothering," Alistair said, with bitterness heavily underscoring his attempt at a breezy tone. "Pretty as a picture."

"So," trilled Morrigan, "you've decided to rejoin us, have you?"

"Is it so hard for you to understand grief?" he shot back. "Everyone I cared about is lying dead on that battlefield."

"And you moping about helps them how?"

"Enough," Una said, her fingers pressing into her temples. "We have more than we can handle already—I don't need the two of you to start sniping at each other." Both of them started to say something, but Una glared at them and they stopped. "What should we do now?"

Morrigan shrugged eloquently.

Alistair rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know what we should do," he said. "There are plenty of places to go, but I don't know which one to go to first."

Una closed her eyes. He wasn't actually saying this, was he? "Are you saying you want me to decide? You know you're the senior Warden, right?" He stared at her mutely, and she could see the misery and the hint of pleading in his eyes. She sighed. "All right, then. I guess it's on me. Let's head into town and see what's what."

They walked through the camps full of refugees, and were told several times by Templars stationed around the camps that Lothering had no room for more people. Alistair and Morrigan continued their sniping at each other until Una was ready to leave them both behind. Maybe somewhere in the Anderfels she and Grenli could find a nice cave far from Blight and darkspawn and annoying companions.

Sighing, she led them into the Chantry, where they met a knight Alistair knew from his days at Redcliffe. The knight told them that Arl Eamon had been felled by some mysterious and thus far incurable illness and lay in a coma in Redcliffe Castle, while all his knights were spread around Ferelden hunting for the mythic Urn of Sacred Ashes, the container that was supposed to hold the ashes of the prophet Andraste and was also reputed to have magical healing powers. Further, he explained that Teyrn Loghain was claiming that the Grey Wardens were responsible for the tragedy of the Battle of Ostagar—that they had pushed Cailan into showing off for glory and going into battle when he wasn't ready. Loghain had put it about that he was the true hero of the day, that by withdrawing from the field he had saved his own army and thus Ferelden.

Alistair was devastated and enraged. To think that his companions—that Duncan—had died because of the Teyrn's betrayal and were now being blamed for the loss of the king! As they exited the Chantry, his emotions rose up, nearly choking him, and he started off toward Denerim, muttering to himself, "I'll kill him. I'll kill him. No, I'll torture him. Killing's too good."

Una wrapped her hands around his arm, digging her heels into the ground. "Alistair! Alistair! Snap out of it!"

Morrigan raised her staff, spoke a chant, and a block of ice encased him. "Are we sure we shouldn't let him go?" she asked. "He'd get himself killed, certainly, but isn't that better than getting us killed?" She could never have allowed that, of course, but it felt good to think about ridding herself of his irritating presence.

Glaring at her, Una said, "Of course not. What good would that do? Besides," she added more practically, "we need the extra sword arm."

"Could we not just hire another one?" Morrigan sighed.

Una shook her head, turning back to Alistair, who was starting to thaw. At least his ears were uncovered. "You can't go kill him now," she said, as though talking to a small child. "He won't get away with these lies in the end, but we have to bide our time. We know the truth. If we die now, no one else will ever know what really happened. Do you hear me?"

He blinked slowly, the light brown eyes clearing and focusing on her. "You swear it?" he asked.

"I swear it. Loghain will pay for his treachery and his lies."

Alistair nodded, taking a deep breath. "Let's see what else there is to find out in this town."

"There's a good Warden," Morrigan cooed.

"Morrigan," Una ground out between clenched teeth, "if you do not shut up, I will break your jaw."

"Please?" Alistair asked, his eyes brightening. "I'd pay to see that fight."

Both women shot him dirty looks and he subsided, but the image remained, and was strangely exciting.

On their way past the Chantry gates, Una stopped at the Chanters' board to see what jobs were available.

"We don't have time to stop for these things, do we?" Alistair asked doubtfully.

"No, we probably don't have time. But what we also don't have is money—you know, for little things like food and health poultices? So if we don't do some side work here and there, we'll all starve. Which wouldn't be that helpful, either. Besides, if we help people out in these little towns, maybe we'll start to rebuild the Grey Wardens' reputation in Ferelden and fewer people will believe Loghain's lies."

"A decent point," Alistair admitted. They took a couple of listings off the board and set off through town to see what else there was to find out.

In the tavern, they found a bit more than they had bargained for. A group of soldiers drinking at a table stood up as Una walked in through the door, and the leader's sword cleared its scabbard. "Well, now," he said. "What have we here?"

"I thought we had asked all over town about a woman of this description," said another soldier, his eyes raking Una up and down with an insolent leer. "And everyone said they hadn't seen her."

Una heard the scrape of steel behind her as Alistair drew his own sword. "What can we do for you?" she asked calmly, trying to stave off actual bloodshed if she could.

"We're here on order of Teyrn Loghain," said the soldier leader. "We're charged with bringing him any Grey Wardens we can find. Dead or alive." He laughed unpleasantly.

"Good luck with that," Una said. She pulled her own sword, watching the soldier's eyes widen as he took in the great size of the blade.

"Please, can't we settle this peacefully?" asked an Orlesian-accented voice. Both Una and the soldiers' leader looked around at the voice's owner. She was a pretty red-headed woman, dressed as a lay sister of the Chantry, but she was wearing a pair of daggers in crossed scabbards on her back.

"Sister, stay out of this," the leader said grimly, leveling his sword at Una. And then he attacked, and battle was joined. The sister drew her daggers and joined in, fighting the soldiers. It was a hard-fought battle, but most of the soldiers went down. The leader was on the ground, the tip of Una's blade digging into his neck, when the Chantry sister put a hand on Una's arm.

"You've won, don't you see? There's no need to kill them," she said, her eyes pleading with Una.

Una looked from the soldier to the sister and back again. Then she stepped back, sheathing her sword. "Take a message to Loghain," she said to the soldier.

"Anything!" he gasped, getting up from the floor with difficulty.

"Tell him the Grey Wardens know what really happened at Ostagar. And we're coming for him." The soldier nodded, nearly tripping over his own boots in his haste to get out of the tavern and Una's presence. Once he was gone, she turned her attention to the sister. "Thanks for your help."

"Let me introduce myself," said the sister. "I am Leliana. You will be fighting the darkspawn, yes? That is why I will be joining you."

"You'll be what?" Una blinked at the woman.

"Joining you." Leliana's blue eyes met Una's squarely. "I have many skills that will be useful to you."

"Such as?"

"Fighting, for one. I can also cook, sew, and sing, all things useful for keeping body and soul together while traveling." Leliana opened her blue eyes wide. "I am sure I can be an asset on your journeys. Please allow me to join you."

"We could use a decent cook," Una admitted. "Why are you so eager to come along?"

"The Maker told me to," Leliana said.

"You want to run that one by me again?"

"More crazy?" Alistair muttered. "I thought we were all full up."

Una heard Morrigan take a breath to say something, and held up her hand to forestall the mage's comments.

Leliana looked uncomfortable. "I had a dream," she explained. "A vision. I am meant to help the Grey Wardens stop the Blight."

Una studied the serious face of the woman in front of her. The blue eyes met hers frankly, and the sister certainly seemed sincere. And she had fought well. "We can use all the help we can get," Una said at last. "Welcome aboard, Leliana."

"Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought," Morrigan said.

* * *

_A/N: And that's it for Lothering. If I were to write this all over again, I would make Lothering a lot less Exposition City ... although I still don't know if I would devote more than one chapter to it. I did not recruit Sten for this story - I understand the Qunari better after DA2, but in Origins I thought Sten was really out of place (not to mention unpleasant), so I didn't recruit him often, didn't use him much when I did recruit him, and never wrote him into any stories. On the bright side, after this the original content is ramped up. _


	6. Camp

_Thanks for following along everyone! We begin to diverge more from the game content starting here - I will be interested in hearing your reactions!_

* * *

A few days later, Una awoke in a tent on the edge of the Brecilian Forest. After getting dressed, she emerged into the camp, looking around for the others. Morrigan, as usual, was preparing her own breakfast at a separate fire. Grenli was gnawing at something outside Una's tent. "Everything okay, boy?" she asked as she went by him. He barked happily, waving his stumpy tail. There was no sign of Leliana, but Alistair was sitting speculatively by the coals, drinking what looked like coffee.

He didn't look up as Una came near the fire, and she watched him carefully, looking for some sign that he was recovering from the depression his grief had sent him into. The humor that had characterized her first experiences with him had yet to come back, and Una didn't know if there was any way to help it return.

"You don't have to stare," he said, without turning around. "I'm not about to do anything … drastic."

"Good to know." When he still didn't move, she added, "I'm concerned about you, you know."

At this he did look up at her. "You don't have to be." He found her concern somewhat oppressive. She was doing a fine job leading them—what did she need him for anyway?

"Let him sulk," Morrigan called from her own fire. "He's far less annoying when he's too depressed to speak."

"Morrigan, do you think that helps?" Una put a hand on Alistair's shoulder, keeping him from getting up to go after their companion. She looked down at him. "I'll say this for her, though. She's the only person who seems to be able to get a reaction out of you." He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He didn't like that idea, at all, that Morrigan could reach something in him that was still alive, any more than Una liked the idea that she herself couldn't.

At this juncture, Leliana emerged from the trees, squeezing water out of her short red hair with a towel. "The water is very refreshing this morning. Quite bracing." She shivered a bit.

"I'll take your word for it," Una chuckled. "Is there any more of that coffee?" she asked Alistair.

"If you can call it that," he said. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook."

"Me, neither," Una said. "Spoiled daughter of a noble and all that." She took the cup he handed her. After taking a sip, she grimaced. "But I think even I could make better coffee than that."

"He toils not, neither does he spin," Morrigan commented. "What are we dragging the great whiny lummox along for, anyway?"

This time Una missed the shoulder. Alistair leaped to his feet and she had to grab him by the arm to prevent him from attacking Morrigan. "All right!" she said. "We are not going to be fighting amongst ourselves. We have enough problems without that, and so does Ferelden. Morrigan, lay off. The man has a right to his grief. Alistair, there is no attacking other party members, no matter how provoking they are. And if you can try to pull yourself together a bit, we would all appreciate it." Her tone softened, and she looked him directly in the eyes. "We've all lost people we care about. But we have a responsibility to those people to continue fighting for the things they died for. If we give up under the weight of our grief, it will all have been for nothing."

They were good strong words, and they made sense, Alistair thought. Then another part of his mind said nastily, _She never met the other Grey Wardens and barely knew Duncan. What does she know?_ and he snapped, "You almost sound like you know what you're talking about."

Una stopped her fist an inch before it smashed into his chin. Alistair blinked and took a couple of steps backwards. "That— That was fast."

"I'm sorry," she said, pulling herself together with an effort. She unclenched her fist. "Apparently you don't know."

He shook his head. "Know what?"

"The reason I was at Ostagar, the reason my parents agreed to allow Duncan to recruit me into the Grey Wardens in the first place." Her gaze shifted to the trees, but in her mind's eye she could see the fire flickering along the walls of Highever Castle as it burned. "Arl Howe waited until my brother Fergus had taken all our men with him to Ostagar, then he attacked Highever Castle. My sister-in-law and my little nephew were slaughtered in their bedrooms. And when I escaped with Duncan, my father was dying and my mother had pledged to protect him as long as there was breath in her body. I had to leave them there to be killed, and their bodies are rotting in the ruins, unburied. Unavenged. And my brother? Probably dead, too. I may never know for sure." She looked at Alistair again, her dry eyes and raw voice underscoring the horrors she was describing. "So, yes. I _almost_ sound like I know what I'm talking about." He had the grace to blush. The two of them were close enough to the same height that she was able to stand nose to nose with him. "Now, we have a lot to do, and it'll go better and faster if we're as close to full strength as we can be. Get your head together, and do it fast." She brushed past him without waiting for a reply and stalked off into the trees toward the bracing stream Leliana had mentioned.

When she returned, the camp had been packed and everyone was ready to go. They all avoided looking at her. "Right," Una said. "So we're all good now?" There were nods. "Excellent. Let's go find us some Dalish."

But they didn't find the Dalish that day. Una called a halt early in the afternoon to give them all a chance to regroup a bit. Alistair had been more his old self, joking a bit and seeming more interested in the plans she was making to collect their allies, which had brought home to her all the more clearly how much she felt for him. She hated to see him in such pain, and instead of nearly punching him out and screaming in his face would so much rather have put her arms around him and held him.

Una viciously pounded the last tent stake into the ground and wished she felt comfortable enough with either of the other two women to talk to them about this. She wished even harder for her mother's wise counsel. Suddenly an idea came to her—a crazy and possibly blasphemous idea, but it resonated within her.

While they were in Lothering they had collected some blank vellum. She dug through her pack until she found it, then ducked into her tent and began to write.

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_I love and miss you both so much. The world seems like such a different place than it was the night I left you. I find myself in the surprising position of needing to unite the armies of Ferelden, stop a Blight, and end a civil war, with only a few companions to help me. I wish you were both here to help me figure out what to do. I feel so lost and alone. And I haven't been able to find Fergus, either, Father, but I swear I will not stop looking until I do. I swear to you both, I will not let you down, or Ferelden. If it can be done, I will end this Blight._

_You might expect that I am writing you right now for your help in the affairs of the nation. But instead, it's something closer to my heart. It _is_ my heart. You see, I am one of two surviving Grey Wardens in Ferelden. And I think I am in love with the other one. He is everything I always told you I wanted, Mother. Funny like Father and Fergus, and a good warrior and a man of strong heart like them, too. But also tender and sweet. And every time he looks at me (close your ears, Father), I want to just melt into the floor. He has been devastated by the loss of the rest of the Wardens, and there's so much going on that it has been impossible … even for your impulsive Pup … to focus on my own desires. I know I shouldn't be thinking of these things, not in this extremity, but I can't seem to stop myself. He doesn't even seem to notice that I'm female, much less share my feelings. But I can't keep pretending I don't feel anything forever, and I don't know what to do. I know you're probably thinking I should just focus on what's going on in the world, but I can't. Mother, please tell me what to do. I can't ruin this—he's everything I've ever wanted. (And if there's no room for true love in the world, what am I saving it for?)_

_Yours always,_

_Pup_

Una finished the letter and carried it with her as she left the tent. She took a quick survey of the camp. Grenli was sleeping outside her tent. He shifted, opening one eye and whining questioningly. "It's okay, Gren. You can sleep." He grunted, reassured, and the eye closed again. Morrigan appeared to be meditating, and Leliana was sorting through some herbs and other vegetation.

"What are those?"

"I picked them in the woods. I'm thinking of making something special for dinner."

"That's right, you said you can cook." Leliana raised her eyebrows at Una's doubtful tone, and Una rushed to clarify. "I mean, clearly Morrigan's not going to be cooking for all of us, and neither Alistair nor I knows the first thing about it. I'm delighted you can cook."

"I have many talents that you haven't seen yet," Leliana said.

"Glad to hear it," Una said, smiling at her companion. "I look forward to them." Leliana's eyebrow shot up. "I mean, um … Yeah, I'm going to go er …" She inclined her head toward the trees.

Una moved off in the direction of the stream she could hear babbling in the distance. Reaching the edge of the stream, she knelt and twisted the letter she'd written into a boat. It had been a while since she'd done it, but after a moment her fingers remembered the right folds. She struck a match on a rock and held it to the boat. When it had caught, she set the flaming boat adrift on the stream and watched as it floated away, burning to cinders as it went. She composed her mind, thinking, _Please, Mother, hear me. _

Then a sudden commotion in the trees broke her reverie. Looking up, she saw Alistair come crashing through. He stopped short, staring at her. There it was, she thought. The "oh, she has two heads" look she'd been dreading. Men always looked at her that way eventually.

Alistair thought she looked incredibly young and vulnerable sitting there, watching the paper boat float away. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like to have been through what she had, and the memory of what he'd said to her that morning made his cheeks burn. "I, um, smelled smoke. I thought the forest was on fire." He studied her for a moment. "Aren't you a little old to be playing with toy boats?"

She smiled, watching the remnants of the boat as it crumbled into the water far down the stream. "Maybe."

"Are you all right?"

Una did her best not to blush under his gaze. "I'm all right. I was—" she paused, trying to decide if she should tell him what she was doing, then decided he might as well know her weirdnesses. He was going to have to eventually if he were ever going to fall in love with her. And she desperately wanted someone to talk to. "You're going to think this is strange."

"What's normal?" He grinned, shrugging.

She smiled back. "Nothing anymore. I was writing to my parents. I … I miss them so much. I miss my father's love and humor and my mother's wisdom and advice. Even her scoldings, sometimes."

"What did you get scolded about?" He was looking directly at her now, seeming to see her for the first time since Ostagar. It was the most interest he had shown, and she was glad to see it.

"Mostly about not being a lady. I've always been awkward and gangly and too heedless and impulsive."

"Clearly you've never seen yourself swing a sword. There's nothing awkward about you in battle—quite the contrary. Even though that greatsword you're using is longer than you are tall," Alistair said. He leaned back against a tree, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Una was hard pressed not to stare at the picture he made. "I thought, when you picked it up, 'Oh, she can't possibly fight with that,' but you are—formidable. To say the least. And your reflexes … I wasn't sure which was more impressive this morning. How close you came to hitting me before I even noticed you swinging, or how quickly you stopped yourself." After a moment, he said more softly, "Or how you were able to put me completely to shame in a few short minutes."

"No shame, Alistair. I've had more time to deal with these things than you have." She shrugged. "Greater perspective with distance, I think. But thank you," she added, smiling up at him again. She couldn't help it—the idea that he'd been watching her filled her with warmth. "The greatsword is a bit ridiculous, but it feels right." She hoped the deepening twilight hid her blush. The greatsword wasn't the only thing that felt right. Being with him—especially with him actually there and not somewhere in a haze of grief—was the closest she'd come to feeling like home in such a long time. "Anyway, I wanted to talk to my parents. And to do something to feel like they heard me. You know? Maybe the Chantry would disapprove of the idea that burning my letter would help them hear me. Almost certainly it would disapprove of the idea that I think they might answer me. But without them …"

"You'd be alone," he finished, with great pain in his voice. If it weren't for her, he thought, he would be completely alone. Everything he'd known before Ostagar was either gone or being threatened.

"I'm sorry, Alistair."

"I know." He swallowed, fighting the sadness. "I think anything that allows you to hold on to the people you love is right—outside of blood magic or whatever Morrigan does—and it doesn't matter what the Chantry thinks. They aren't here, are they?" She had a flash of great relief—she'd told him one of her innermost thoughts, and he'd taken it and accepted it and still seemed to like her.

"Alistair?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"If you don't mind my asking … where is your family?"

He took a deep breath. Somehow he was never prepared to answer that question, even though he knew he should have expected it. "The Grey Wardens were my family," he said. "I was raised by Arl Eamon. You see, my mother was a serving girl at the castle who died when I was born, and I'm … a bastard. Not Arl Eamon's, if that's what you're thinking," he added hastily.

"So you grew up in Redcliffe Castle?" She'd been there once, she remembered, a long time ago, but she didn't remember the Arl having a child around the place.

"Not really," he said. "I slept in the stables, mostly. Helped in the kitchen. Until Arl Eamon got married, and the Arlessa resented the rumors that pegged me as his bastard. Arl Eamon didn't care, but she did. So when I was 10 I was packed off to the Chantry to become a Templar, and there I stayed until Duncan rescued me."

"That doesn't sound very nice of her."

Alistair shrugged. "She was threatened by me."

"Still," Una said. "So you don't know who your father was?"

Uncomfortably, Alistair hedged, "I know that he's dead."

"And your mother didn't have any family?"

"I never learned much about my mother. The only thing I ever had of hers was an amulet—Andraste's holy symbol. When Arl Eamon told me he was sending me away to the Chantry, I hurled it against the wall and it shattered." He swallowed. "It was a stupid, stupid thing to do, and not a day has gone by since that I didn't regret it."

"You were a child," she said. "It's understandable."

"Yes, and I acted like it." He took a deep breath. "I found out later, after I'd left the Chantry, that my mother had a daughter, a girl named Goldanna, who was several years older than me."

"So you have a sister? That's wonderful!" Una said. "Have you been in contact with her? Do you know where she is?"

"I know she lives in Denerim, but I haven't had the courage to get in touch with her. Could we … if we're in Denerim, do you suppose we could look her up? I'd hate to miss the chance."

"Of course!" Una said. She thought of Fergus then, and she put her hand up to her face, feeling the sting of threatened tears.

"I'm sorry," Alistair said. "I've been interrupting as you're trying to talk to your family. Thanks for listening," he said.

"Anytime," she answered.

"I'll leave you alone, then. And Una?"

She hoped he didn't notice the tremor that shook her at the sound of his voice saying her name. "Yes?"

"I hope they hear you. And I hope you hear them."

"Thank you," she said. She listened to his progress through the trees, and when he was gone, listened for the voices of her parents. At last she heard them, faintly, as if from a long way off.

_Ah, Pup,_ came her father's tones. _I knew you'd make your mark on the world. As for the boy, he's clearly not good enough for you … as none of them ever were. But that's your mother's area. You make me proud, my girl._

Una could almost feel his arms around her shoulders and took strength from his love.

_Una, my dear. _Her mother's voice was a mixture of amusement, pride, and exasperation. _I always knew it would be the most awkward time and place possible. You can never do anything easily, can you? You go through your life with such enthusiasm and so little heed for the consequences. _Una heard a deep sigh. _As for your young man … slowly, my girl. If he's what you really want—and you've always been very good at knowing exactly what you want, so I'll trust that you know what you're doing—let him lead. He'll be more confident, you'll know that he's sure you're what he wants, and you'll have a stronger bond if you proceed more slowly._

The voices faded, leaving Una still sitting there, her face wet. "Thank you, Mother," she breathed. Una stood up, her legs stiff and cramped from so long in one position. She made her way back through the trees, following her nose to the camp, whence came the heavenly smell of whatever it was Leliana had made.

Alistair looked up as she came into the camp, noticing the tracks of tears on her face. "Una, you have to taste this. Leliana's a culinary genius!"

She grinned back at him, glad to hear the enthusiasm in his voice. "And a good thing, too," she said. "I was afraid we'd be stuck with raw twigs."

"Better than our cooking, don't you think?"

"Infinitely," put in Leliana.

As she sat down, taking the plate Leliana proffered, Alistair leaned over and asked quietly, "Did you hear anything?"

Una's wide mouth curved in a smile that lit her whole face. Alistair found it captivating. He wanted to try and make her smile like that again sometime. "I did," she said.

"What you wanted to hear?"

"Not entirely," she said. "They're parents, after all. But what I needed to hear."

"Good." They both returned to their plates, eating in companionable silence.

* * *

_A/N: This is where the story started originally, and Ostagar and Lothering were a bit of backfill that I still question the value of. But I wanted the full story, so I left them in. I also I think would have dialed back Una's instant crush a bit more ... but she's a teenager, after all, and stuck in intense circumstances with a very attractive man. Crush seems like a pretty likely scenario!_


	7. Forest

_Many thanks for all your responses! I really love these characters and am glad to be sharing them with you._

* * *

They found the Dalish the following day, and after a lot of running around in the Forest, were eventually able to resolve a curse, cure the Dalish hunters who had been bitten by werewolves, and gain the promise of the new Dalish Keeper, Lanaya, that the Dalish would be ready when the Grey Wardens needed them. It was more complicated than Una had hoped it would be, but they had accomplished their first objective.

The next few days, marching toward Redcliffe, were relatively peaceful, and the whole party felt somewhat healed by the time they camped outside the town. It had been nice just traveling and talking and beginning to get to know one another. They sat around the fire that night, eating something Leliana had whipped up with berries in it.

"I don't know what we're eating, Leliana," Una said, "but is there any more?"

"Sorry," Leliana said, "but, uh, Grenli, is it? He seems to have enjoyed more than his fair portion."

"Gren!" Una looked at him sternly. The mabari burped and looked abashed, but when he caught Alistair's eye he grinned and wagged his tail happily.

"Don't drag me into this, hound! I wanted seconds, too." Grenli licked Alistair's cheek and grinned unrepentantly.

Alistair, rubbing at the slobber on his cheek, looked at Una. "Your dog needs some discipline," he said sternly.

"I've heard that before." She reached out to ruffle the dog's ears before getting up to collect the plates. Morrigan, who continued to camp separately, was staring morosely into her fire, and Leliana was quietly tuning her lyre near her tent. Alistair reached up to hand Una his plate and their fingers brushed in the handoff.

Una caught her breath. The firelight shone on his strong features and caught the highlights in his blond hair. Before she could stop herself, Una heard herself blurting out, "Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?" Then she froze. _Oh, Mother, what did I say _that_ for?_ she thought.

Alistair's eyebrows shot up. He said something about those two 'girls' from Denerim that one time … and then it hit him. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? The brown eyes studied her speculatively. "Wait. Does that mean _you_ think I'm handsome?"

Una blushed. "What if I do?" she muttered, turning her head away.

He chuckled, and she felt the timbers of his voice reach straight down into the pit of her stomach. She bit her lip. "I think I'd grin a lot and look foolish," he said. "Which wouldn't be all bad."

Their eyes met, hers filled with relief and a sudden hope, his thoughtful but wary. She clutched the plates. "I think I'll go wash these," she said, withdrawing hastily. Rolling her eyes upward as she wound her way between trees, she said, "Well, Mother, that wasn't too disastrous." She could see her mother's shake of the head and hear the tongue-click. "I know. Curb the impulsiveness. I'm working on it."

"Do you always speak to your mother as though she could hear you?" Morrigan asked casually from the darkness of the trees.

"Who's to say she can't?" Una countered.

"I suppose your Chantry would be the first."

"The Chantry doesn't know the answers any more than anyone else. I know, that would sound like blasphemy to many, but … if it helps me to think that my parents are close to me, does it matter if they are or not?"

"A bit indulgent," Morrigan mused, "but not entirely impractical. If Alistair had your philosophy we would all have had to listen to much less whining."

"Morrigan, will you please leave him alone?"

"I cannot help it if he is oversensitive!"

"You can help baiting him all the time." Una knelt by the stream and began dipping the plates in. "Or the two of you could just go at it and get it over with." She hated to admit it, but it stung that Morrigan could always get a reaction out of him.

"I do not think that is what you really want. Is it?" Morrigan's smug tone grated on Una's ears. She had a sudden appreciation for why the mage irritated Alistair so.

"I want," she said sharply, "not to have to stand between the two of you and keep you from killing each other."

"Understandable." Morrigan melted back into the trees. Left alone, Una continued ineffectually swishing plates in the water, staring off into the distance.

* * *

Alistair watched Una disappear into the trees in her awkward lope.

"Does she know that it's pitch-dark?" Leliana asked in concern.

"Presumably she does," Alistair remarked absently, moving his gaze to the rose he had removed from his pack. He'd looked at it every night since they'd left Lothering, its strangely undimmed beauty soothing him and helping him remember what they were fighting for.

Leliana withdrew to her tent, leaving Alistair still sitting there, completely confused by what had happened with Una. He had never given that much thought to women—oh, who was he kidding? He thought about women all the time, especially now that he was traveling with three of them. All extraordinary in their own way, even the one who was the embodiment of all evil. But it had never occurred to Alistair that a woman might think about him. Not until just now. "Handsome"? Him? But maybe he'd misunderstood. Maybe that was some kind of noble thing, compliments as a way to raise morale? Well, they'd be heading into Redcliffe tomorrow, he could see then— He raised his head suddenly. Redcliffe! "Maker's blood!" he swore. He got up, putting the rose away carefully before heading off into the trees in the direction Una had gone.

Hearing the crashing behind her, Una quickly finished stacking the plates. Alistair clearly hadn't grown up sneaking up on people in the woods, that much was clear, she reflected. She grinned a little, thinking how often she'd caught Fergus with the elven serving maids. "Yes, Alistair?"

"How did you know it was me?"

"No one else crashes through the forest like a great bear."

"Except, you know … a bear."

She chuckled. "I think the bear would have been slightly quieter."

"Hey!"

"We should have had the elves teach you some woods lore," Una mused. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Er, yes."

Una tried not to hope that it would be something she wanted to hear. "Spill it, then." And that's when he told her that he was the illegitimate son of the king. After he'd finished explaining, he stood awkwardly for a few moments, clearly unsure what to say. He wished there was more light so he could see her expression, but then thought that if his revelation had changed anything, maybe he didn't want to know. He ducked his head and disappeared back toward the camp. "Isn't this an interesting turn of events," Una muttered. "What do you think, Father?" she asked of the sky. But the stars were silent. "Still processing, huh? Yeah, me, too. Not at all what I expected." She picked up the plates and carried them back to camp.

The next morning, Una insisted that Alistair tell the other two women about his parentage as well. She noted, watching them, that Morrigan didn't seem entirely surprised. Una filed that information away to be considered later.

As they were trudging toward Redcliffe, Una drew Alistair into conversation about his templar training. It took some pushing, as always, to get past his armor of jokes, but once she did, she got to the thoughtful bit right in the middle that was the hardest part of him to find. He covered it so thoroughly, but she liked to study it when it came out, watching and listening carefully. She did the same with the others, prodding and testing to find out what was there. It helped, in battle and decision-making, to know exactly who was behind her. In this case, Alistair wandered off-topic a bit, talking about how being with the Grey Wardens had been the first sensation of being home he'd ever felt. She was processing his thoughts so intently that she almost missed it when he turned the tables on her. "What?" she asked.

He stopped, the dark eyes serious for once as they held hers. "I said, is there anyplace you call home?"

She took a deep breath. Alistair almost felt guilty for asking the question as he saw the flash of pain in her tilted cat's eyes before she closed them. In that moment, Una said good-bye for the last time to her life at Highever Castle, and when her eyes opened they held—what? Alistair thought. Resignation, determination, maybe hope. "I guess," she said, "my home is with the Grey Wardens now." Her eyes met his, and he felt a jolt of electricity that startled him. "With you," she added hesitantly.

No mistaking it, he thought, that was a blush on her cheeks, not just a trick of the sunlight. Maybe she really was thinking about him. He was unaware that he was blushing, too. "I— I think I like the sound of that," he offered. They stared at each other for a moment, then looked quickly away as Leliana came up over the hill behind them.

* * *

_A/N: Definitely if I was going to write this over again, I would not have skimmed over the entire Dalish section in a single paragraph! I was a little surprised to see that I had done that, actually. But then, for a Cousland origin, the Dalish section seems a bit disconnected from the rest of the game. Also, if I haven't explained the eye color issue yet - I started playing DA on a computer that couldn't handle the graphics. Among other things, everyone's eyes looked black. So Alistair's eyes through here are "dark", because I didn't know what color they really were._


	8. Redcliffe

_Thanks to everyone reading! I appreciate your support._

* * *

As they approached Redcliffe Village, a man wide-eyed with panic met them, trying to turn them away from the village. "Don't you know what's happening here?"

"No, I'm afraid we don't. What is happening?" Una asked cautiously. She heard Alistair's intake of breath behind her, and knew he was wondering if the bad news was about Arl Eamon.

Introducing himself as Tomas, the man hastily explained that walking skeletons were coming from the castle every night, and had decimated the village. He offered to take them to Bann Teagan, whom Una remembered as Arl Eamon's younger brother. She knew her mother had once speculated on a match with Teagan, but didn't think anything had come of it. Maker, she hoped not. That would be awkward.

As Tomas led them into the Chantry, she saw Teagan waiting. He was squinting at them as they came up. It was obvious that he was trying to place her and couldn't quite manage. She clasped her right arm across her chest, bowing to him. "Bann Teagan. A pleasure to see you again."

He shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry, you look familiar, but I can't remember your name."

"Una Cousland, ser." She watched the recognition dawn, wondering if she truly looked that different from the last time he'd seen her.

Teagan was stunned. Not only had he heard that the whole Cousland family had been killed in the fire at Highever Castle, he would never have recognized this confident warrior as the shy, gawky girl he'd seen at the occasional social event. If he'd ever seen her like this before, he reflected, his answer to Teyrn Bryce's careful probings about a match between them might have been different. He bowed. "My lady. My deepest sympathies on the loss of your family. What a tragic accident."

Rage flashed in Una's eyes, but she held her control. "It was no accident, ser. Arl Howe's men attacked our castle after my brother Fergus had taken most of our men to Ostagar. They murdered my sister-in-law and my nephew, as well as my parents and all our household." Though her voice was even, the edge in it was obvious for all to hear.

Shocked, Teagan fumbled for words. "That is not what we had been told."

"Unsurprising," Una said, "since the only survivor is now being hunted as a traitor due to another lord's false words."

"Not all of us believe Loghain's charges," Teagan said. "My nephew was not the heedless puppy he is being painted as by these slanderous rumors."

"I am glad to hear you say that, my lord," Alistair spoke up.

"Holy Maker," Teagan said. "Alistair? Is that you? You're alive?"

"For now," Alistair said grimly.

Teagan shook his head. "This is much to contemplate. And there is little time to do so."

"Please, ser," Una said. "Tell us what has been happening here."

The Bann explained that no one had heard anything from the castle in days, that the Arl and his family may or may not still be alive, and that the walking corpses were coming in increasing numbers every night. Few in the village expected to survive the coming darkness. Alistair wanted to assure Teagan of their help, but he wasn't sure what Una would do. Holding his breath, he waited for her to speak.

"Of course, Bann Teagan. Our blades are yours," he heard her say. "What troops have we at our disposal?" The Bann laid out the situation for her—militia under the mayor, Murdock, and a few knights under the command of Ser Perth. "All right," Una said. "Let's get started, then."

The group of them moved through the village, adding a dwarven mercenary and his men to their arsenal; talking a drunken, grieving blacksmith into reopening his forge for the men's weapons and armor in exchange for finding his daughter once they were inside the castle; and discovering a cache of oil barrels in the general store. Una noted those for future reference. Set on fire, they could be a powerful weapon against the corpses. In the village inn, they found an elf archer who had been detailed by Teyrn Loghain to watch the castle, keeping Loghain informed of Eamon's condition. It was their first inkling that Arl Eamon's illness might have been engineered by the Teyrn, and Una was stunned. Why was the Hero of River Dane attacking his own country, taking it down from the inside?

The group made their way up the hill and found Ser Perth, current head of the knights of Redcliffe, waiting for them near the windmill.

Alistair remembered Perth from their childhood. A nice boy, yes, but smooth. Always able to convince the grown-ups of his blasted sincerity and innocence. What Alistair hadn't expected was for Perth to turn out to be so tall. He had at least 4 inches on Alistair, who wasn't short by any standard. More importantly, thought Alistair, watching as Perth turned his charm on Una, Perth had a good 4 inches on Una. _Three and a half_, whispered his brain. Alistair hated to admit it, but she was actually a bit taller than he was. Watching her with Perth—so serious, both of them, but Alistair could see the warmth in the knight's eyes—Alistair reflected that he'd never found tall women particularly attractive. Smaller, more feminine women like Leliana usually caught his attention. But there was something different about Una, something that drew the eye. And it made him feel slightly at a disadvantage to be even half an inch shorter than she was. Especially when Perth—damn the man—with his red hair and soft eyes was looking down at her. Didn't women always like taller men? _Oh, snap out of it, Alistair!_ He forced himself back to the conversation at hand.

Una found Perth all too much like all the knights and nobles' sons she'd been pushed toward her whole life. Too smooth, too glib, too practiced. Alistair might hide behind a wall of jokes, but the rough edges always showed. She was aware of Alistair watching her, and she worried about their earlier exchange. Had she said too much? Had there been too much of her heart in her eyes? Was he disturbed, disgusted by her interest in him?

All too soon there was no more time for worrying about who felt what. They were fighting for their lives against the endless stream of walking corpses coming from the castle and then from the lake. When the fighting was finally done, the last corpse screaming as Una's blade sliced through its midsection, it was so late that setting up any kind of camp was impossible to consider. Once some of the cleanup had been accomplished, they slid down the wall of the Chantry, leaning against it. Neither of them even had the energy to take off their armor. Morrigan had gone to ground somewhere, Grenli was already asleep, and Leliana's eyes were drooping as she tucked her pack under her head. Una rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

When she opened her them again, it was full daylight, and someone was shaking her. "Una," Leliana whispered. "I think they want to have some kind of ceremony."

"Oh? They do?" She started to sit up and then was pulled back down when she discovered her hair was stuck to something. Pulling it free with some difficulty, she discovered it had been stuck to a patch of blood on Alistair's shoulder, which she had apparently slept on. She wasn't sure if she was more embarrassed by the sleeping or nauseated by the blood still matted in her hair. She pushed at his arm. "Alistair!"

"Huh? More cheese," he muttered. His eyes opened and he started to smile sleepily when he saw her face. Then he saw Leliana, and then the rest of the chaos. The smile disappeared as he sat up and became aware of his surroundings. He groaned. "Sleeping in armor not such a good idea as it seemed last night."

Una's heart had speeded up dangerously at the sight of that beautiful, trusting smile, and it was only just beginning to slow. She stood up, groaning a bit herself as stiff muscles stretched, and put her hand out to help him up.

"Ah, Wardens!" Bann Teagan looked as fresh as ever. Certainly more fresh than Una felt. "I'm sorry I couldn't have offered you more suitable accommodations for the night. The next time we'll have to do somewhat better."

"Not to worry, ser. I'm just glad to see we're all in one piece." She was having some pretty intense thoughts about taking a bath, though, as they all stood up in front of the surviving townspeople while Teagan formally thanked them for their help in the night. When the brief ceremony of thanks and memorialization of the battle's dead was over, Teagan asked them to meet him by the windmill in ten minutes after he'd given some orders regarding the cleanup of the battle sites. Una and Leliana immediately made a dash for the lakeshore. It was impractical to take off the armor, but they did manage to get all the blood and gore rinsed out of their hair and their faces washed. It was an improvement, at least. Heading back through the village, they ran into Alistair, who was shoving the last of a meat pie into his mouth. He held a sack that was emitting some truly amazing odors.

Leliana held up a wet cloth. "Trade you?"

"Please," he said, reaching eagerly for the cloth. Alistair's obsession with his hair was one of the few things all three of the women found amusing. He rubbed the cloth vigorously over his face and hair, handing Leliana the sack. Leliana gave a pie to Una and took one herself.

Gulping down the food, they made their way up the hill. Bann Teagan stood near the windmill. "My lady," he said gallantly as Una approached him. "A great improvement, if I may say so."

Alistair frowned around the last bite of his second pie. Did _everyone_ have to flirt with her?

Una crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at the Bann. "You wanted to discuss tactics regarding getting into the castle?" The Bann, recognizing a rebuff when he heard one, started explaining about the secret entrance through the windmill.

They were deep in the discussion when suddenly Bann Teagan looked over Una's shoulder in shock. She turned to see a noble lady running down the hill from the castle. The Arlessa Isolde, for so the lady turned out to be, was clearly in the throes of deep distress. She begged Teagan to return to the castle with her. Una could sympathize with the woman's fear, but she bristled at the nasty look Isolde shot Alistair as soon as the Arlessa realized who he was. Alistair appeared to take it in stride, but Una conceived an instant dislike of the Arlessa.

Teagan went back to the castle with Isolde as she had requested. Una and her crew took a secret entrance through the windmill.

It was a struggle to get into the castle—more walking dead to battle their way through—but they finally made it, only to discover that the Arl's son Connor, in his innocent newly awakened magic powers, had made a deal with a demon of the Fade and brought all these corpses to life. When she'd seen signs of magic in the boy, the Arlessa had hired an apostate who turned out to be a blood mage to tutor him, in her desperate need to keep her son from being taken away from her to the Circle Tower. The blood mage had been paid by Loghain to poison the Arl. Now the Arl lay at death's door, kept alive in large part by the demon who had possession of Connor.

Una had never felt more alone in her life than she did in the moment when she stood in the midst of them, all of them looking at her to decide what to do. Alistair, the Arlessa, the mage, Bann Teagan, the whole party. Kill the little boy? Allow the mother to sacrifice her life for her son in a blood ritual? She looked upward, hoping for guidance from her parents, but her ears were filled with the screams of the dying at Highever Castle, and she saw only her nephew and sister-in-law's bodies lying in their own blood. She put her hands over her ears to stop the sounds.

"Una?" She felt a light touch on her shoulder, and fought the urge to throw herself into Alistair's arms and have a good cry.

Straightening, she took her hands off her ears and swiped at an errant tear. "No," she said decisively. "There will be no blood magic. And there will be NO killing a child. Jowan," she addressed the mage, "you say the mages of the Circle can do this with lyrium, and no one's life need be lost?" He nodded. "That's it, then. We have a treaty for the Tower mages, so we would have to go there eventually. We'll go now, we'll leave at first light, and we'll be back in time to save the boy."

"But it's so far away!" Isolde looked frantic. "What happens if … if we can't control him until you get back?"

"You know what happens, Arlessa Isolde. But between you and Bann Teagan and the mage, you should be able to manage for a few days. We'll be back as soon as possible. Bann Teagan, do you think you can do this?" He nodded. "All right." Una looked at the Arlessa. "We will do everything we can to save your son, my lady." The Arlessa, eyes wide and nearly hysterical, buried her face in her hands and started to sob.

"We'll be fine," Teagan assured Una. "She's just exhausted. What she must have endured here in the castle is … unimaginable." He put his arm around his sister-in-law's shoulders.

Una led her team from the castle. They'd stay in the village overnight and leave first thing in the morning.

* * *

_A/N: Here again, if I had it to do over again, I would not have glossed over so much of Redcliffe and would have been way less heavy-handed with the exposition! These chapters were written early on when any type of battle scene scared me wordless, long before WellspringCD took me in hand and taught me how to write them without freezing in panic, and it clearly shows. _


	9. Feast

_Thanks to all of you for reading! I appreciate it._

* * *

The innkeeper offered them free rooms for the night. Una called first dibs on the bathtub in the room she and Leliana would be sharing. After a soak in a hot tub, she felt remarkably refreshed. She put on a simple wool dress, left the tub refilled with clean water for Leliana, and went downstairs to the main room of the inn to hunt for some dinner.

The long table was filled with people feasting, celebrating the defeat of the walking corpses. Alistair had done everything he could to hold open a space next to him, hoping Una would feel up to coming downstairs. The scene in the castle still haunted him, seeing her crouch with her hands over her ears, in such obvious distress. He'd never seen her give way like that before. The strength of the urge he felt to take her in his arms and hold her until she felt better had been … unexpected. One more moment and he would have done so, sticky bloody armor and all.

Suddenly he saw her on the stairs, and his mouth fell open. He'd never seen her in a dress before, and, come to think of it, had never seen her after a proper bath. She looked … beautiful. And tall. And surprisingly shy and ill at ease.

He called her name, waving his mug in the air. At the sight of him, her generous mouth curved in that transforming smile, and a bolt of lightning shot through him, taking him completely by surprise.

Una felt it, too. She'd never seen him in real clothes—just undergear, which tended to be sweaty by the end of the day and not in great condition to begin with. The white shirt he wore now set off his tanned skin. He had taken his usual pains with his hair and his shave, and as she got closer she could smell some kind of spicy scent. Cologne, too? She was torn between simply fainting at the sensual overload and a certain amount of bitterness that he cleaned up better than she did. Every woman in the room seemed better put together than she was. She should have asked Leliana to help her get ready, she thought. Una took the spot next to Alistair and accepted the mug of ale he handed her with a murmur of thanks.

Alistair would have been surprised if he'd known she was feeling inadequate. He thought she looked lovely in the simple dress, not overdone like so many of the other women, and the faint scent of lavender that hung around her, probably from the soap, was enticing, making him want to lean in closer to smell more of it. As she sat down and her thigh brushed his, he felt an immediate physical response that stunned him.

They didn't speak for the rest of the meal. Everything Una wanted to say was … untimely at best. And Alistair was lost in a world of unfamiliar sensation, overwhelmed by the sight and the smell and the feel of her next to him. What few thoughts he had were confused jumbles, his feelings and his background sparring each other, until all his thoughts were distilled down to the single question: was it really all right to be thinking of her this way?

The tension was dispelled somewhat when Leliana came down, looking fresh and lovely. She squeezed innocently between the two of them and kept up a lively chatter that both Una and Alistair were grateful for.

As everyone at the table finished their meal, the gathering grew more boisterous. A few villagers brought out musical instruments, and shortly thereafter the floor was cleared and folks began dancing. Leliana grabbed Alistair's hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor.

Una had flushed bright red as soon as she'd seen what was coming. Dancing was her least favorite thing. She couldn't do it. She had no rhythm, stumbled all over her own feet and those of her partner, and generally made a complete fool out of herself. Years' worth of relentless training had not helped the situation at all. She contemplated just ducking out. And then she caught sight of Alistair and Leliana. Leliana, of course, danced beautifully. Una found herself intrigued to hear more about Leliana's past, wondering exactly where she had come by all her skills. But the real surprise was Alistair. Una would have expected, given his general lack of experience with women—something that was all too obvious—that he would be an awkward dancer. Instead, he was remarkably natural, and moved with a grace that was almost elven. Una's misery was increased tenfold when she saw what her lack of skill on the dance floor was costing her. But she couldn't quite tear her eyes away, either.

Then a large obstruction blocked her view. Ser Perth bent low over Una's hand. He had seen her wistful gaze trained on the dance floor and hoped that this would be his opportunity. Clearly she longed to dance—what woman wouldn't? "My lady? Could I request the pleasure of this dance?"

Una blushed in an agony of embarrassment, but Perth misread it as pleasure. "Oh, Ser Perth. You don't want to do that."

"Of course I do." He tugged gently on her hand. He was all too used to the false protestations of noble ladies.

"No, I mean—I'm a bad dancer. I'll step on your feet!" Una was desperate to avoid being dragged onto the dance floor. "I'm not kidding!"

"Dear lady! As if you could be anything less than graceful," Perth said smoothly. He pulled her with him and took her in his arms. Alistair, watching this, was heartened that Una seemed so incredibly reluctant to dance with the knight, but gritted his teeth when he saw how naturally Perth's head bent low over Una's, looking protective and, well, just the right height.

But after the fourth time in two minutes that Una had stepped on his foot—painfully, too—Perth couldn't help it. "Would you be, uh, happier, sitting down?" He had never encountered this particular issue before (he was generally considered a marvelous dance partner), and was irritated with himself and with her that he had lost his self-possession enough to stumble over his tongue that way.

"Yes, please!" Una said with considerable relief. She saw Perth wince, but whether it was from bruised pride or the fifth time she'd stepped on his foot, she didn't know.

Shortly after he'd helped her to her seat—limping a little, she noticed—Perth found a village girl who was more than happy to dance with him. And probably wouldn't step on his feet, Una thought. She relaxed a bit, hoping that debacle would mean she was free from further exhortations to dance and could relax and watch Alistair in peace. But when she surveyed the dance floor, she didn't see him.

Alistair, on the other hand, was all too aware of where she was. He'd seen the whole dance with Perth, and while he was glad to see the other man's confidence taken down a peg, he'd felt awful for Una. Now he was torn. He wanted to dance with her, and he really wanted to show Perth that he could dance with her—but what if he couldn't, and he embarrassed her all over again? He took a large swallow of ale, considering. What finally decided him was the question of when he might have the opportunity again. He suspected there wasn't a lot of dancing in their immediate future, and he'd be hanged if he'd miss this chance.

Una smelled that faintly spicy scent before she saw him. But her heart sank when she saw his hand reach out for her in the unmistakable "dance with me" signal. Hadn't he seen her humiliation with Ser Perth? Then she looked up, and surprised something in his eyes that she'd never seen before, something shy and hesitant. She thought, if he hadn't seen the dance with Perth, then her refusal would seem like rejection. And what if he never looked at her like that again? Sending a silent prayer to the Maker for some kind of grace, she took his hand.

As he took her in his arms, they were both surprised and excited by how well they fit together. Una was reminded of why she'd fallen for him in the first place, how completely comfortable he could make her feel. She didn't feel nearly as gawky as usual … until she stepped on his foot. He winced. "I'm sorry," she said miserably. "I'm so bad at this."

"No training?" he asked.

"Too much. But it never took." She took a deep breath, and then said, "You don't have to dance with me, you know."

"I know." Something in his voice caused her knees to buckle and she stumbled. "It's not that hard, Una," he said, his arm tightening around her waist to keep her from falling. "It's like … fighting, only slower. And without the bleeding. And you know you're graceful on the battlefield."

"So should we have an argument?" She grinned at him, forgetting to be uncomfortable for a moment.

"Perish the thought," he said in mock horror. Then, more seriously, "But maybe don't think about it so hard. Just … talk to me."

"Oh. Okay. I can try that." She thought for a moment, then asked, "Where did you learn to dance like this?"

"There she goes with the questions! 'Tell me all about your life, Alistair.'"

"I'm sorry, I'm curious! After all, the Chantry isn't so much about the dancing. And I don't think I want to imagine all the templar trainees dancing together in the dorms." They both laughed at the image.

"No, I don't really want to imagine that, either."

"So, where did you learn?"

"Where else? In the kitchens. I was banished there all the time. Often enough that the elves who worked there started to see me as one of them. They used to have a great time when there weren't other humans around, and after a while they let me join in."

"Ah, so that's why!"

"Why what?"

"I was thinking … before … that you looked a little elven while you danced."

Alistair missed a step himself, thinking of her watching him. They both blushed furiously, and conversation died. Until Una looked down at her own feet and made a surprising realization. "Hey, I can dance!"

"See? I told you so." He couldn't resist a smug look in the direction of Ser Perth. "It just takes the right partner," he added without thinking. At Una's swiftly indrawn breath, their eyes met. Her eyes had gone liquid soft, and her mouth was so close. Alistair heard himself groan. One of his arms gripped her waist, the other hand left hers to splay across the middle of her back, pulling her closer. She made a small sound in the back of her throat. "Una—" he breathed. He felt her long fingers slide around to caress the back of his neck. The sensation was unbelievable. Until he felt the chain of the Grey Warden medallion around his neck shift under her hand.

Abruptly he stepped back. He felt like a heel when he saw the flash of hurt and rejection in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I—" But he didn't know what to say. He only knew that he wasn't ready for this.

Una felt cold and lost suddenly, standing alone. Tears stung the back of her eyes. Had she done something wrong? But her mother's words came back to her. "_Let him lead_. _You'll know that he's sure you're what he wants."_ She took a deep, shaky breath. "We ought to get some sleep, anyway. We have an early morning tomorrow." With some effort, she managed to smile at him. "Thank you for the dance. I … I didn't know I could dance like that. I'm going to head up. Good night."

And then she was gone, leaving him standing there more confused than ever. He hadn't made her angry, that much he could tell, but why not? Was she relieved that he hadn't kissed her? Would that have been too forward anyway? He remembered the way her eyes had melted into his, and a shudder ran through him. No, he didn't think she was relieved. She had clearly been hurt when he first stepped back, but had regained control of herself almost immediately. He lifted a mug of ale from a passing tray and drained it. Women were sodding confusing, he reflected as he made his way up to his room.

* * *

_A/N: This is one of my favorite scenes that I've ever written. Something about it really defines these characters for me and makes them live. As such, there's not a lot I would change, except for some wording here and there._


	10. Ambush

_Thanks to all of you for following along! It's been fun delving back into this story._

* * *

The next morning they were up at first light, beginning the trek toward the Circle Tower. Una somehow managed to act normally. Alistair tried to follow her lead, but he still felt guilty over the way he had ended their dance, and was completely unable to sort through the complex web of what he felt for her.

Shortly after their lunch break, they ran into a woman standing by the road. She flagged them down, crying out that her party was being ambushed by bandits.

Una ran ahead with the woman, the others following. Alistair didn't see exactly what happened, but suddenly a tree fell. The tree blocked his view of Una, and for a moment he thought it had landed on her. As he ran forward, his heart in his throat, his brain was calling out in panic. He realized how much he had come to count on her leadership, her laughter warming the cold campsites, her hand that had reached down into the darkness of his despair and pulled him out. What would he do if something happened to her?

As he reached the fallen tree, he saw that she had leaped clear and was getting to her feet. He also saw the elf with the knives who had stepped out from behind the wagon and the array of other fighters that suddenly surrounded them. He felt an irrational anger bubble up in him. What had she been thinking, running ahead like that, putting herself in danger and leading them into an ambush?

Alistair put his anger to good use, whaling on the bandits until there were none left. Except the elf, who lay on the ground groaning. Una walked over to him and nudged him, none too gently, with her foot until he was able to speak coherently.

It turned out that the elf was a member of the Antivan Crows, a feared assassin organization. He'd been hired by Teyrn Loghain to kill the remaining Grey Wardens. And in an accent that made Alistair's skin crawl, the elf proceeded to talk his way into the party, convincing Una—somehow—that he would be a good addition. Alistair thought he might have to be sick. A dangerous assassin who had already tried to kill her? Who was, in the bargain, a good-looking elf with a sexy accent who had already made it clear that he was very, very available to the tall, beautiful Grey Warden lady? That's just what they needed to make things more interesting. And yes, apparently everyone _did_ have to flirt with her.

The longer he thought about it, the angrier he got.

Una could sense Alistair's temperature rising. It didn't surprise her entirely that he should object to the addition of the elf, Zevran, but the decision made sense to her. "Leliana, Morrigan, can the two of you take Zevran up to that clearing, maybe see to his wounds and start setting up a camp? We'll stay here tonight and go on to the Tower in the morning. Alistair and I will clean up down here."

There was surprisingly little grumbling as the two women walked off with the elf supported on their shoulders. Grenli went off with them, but he turned around and growled warningly at Alistair before he left. Nosy hound, Alistair thought.

The others were barely out of sight before he turned on her. "What in the name of Andraste were you thinking?!"

"'Keep your friends where you can grasp their hand. Keep your enemies where you can grasp their throats'," quoted Una. "Isn't that what General Cairados wrote?" Methodically, she began to loot the battle site.

"You read _The Treatise on Warfare_?" Alistair gawked at her.

Now she was angry, too. She straightened up, her fists on her hips. "I am just as much a warrior as you are," she shouted. "I spent my training years studying just like you did. What do you think, that I'm some dilettante little girl playing with the men's toys?"

"Sometimes you act like it!"

"Oh, yeah? I didn't hear you complaining when you asked me to take the lead!"

"No, and maybe I wouldn't have asked you to if I'd known you were going to go running off almost getting yourself killed while leading the rest of us into an ambush!"

"Anytime you want to take over, just say the word," she said, softly and dangerously. She turned back to the crate she'd been rummaging through.

He stared at her, his mouth open. How dare she turn this all around and act like he'd done something wrong? Never mind that he probably had, he wasn't letting her get the last word. "So what do you think, then," he asked belligerently, "that you're better than me?"

She stood up, her eyes flashing at the challenge. "You know where to find me if you want to find out."

"No time like the present, is there?" He picked up a tree branch that was about the size of his sword.

"Fine." Una cast around for a branch the same size as her greatsword. "Ready?"

He nodded. They circled each other warily for a moment. Leliana, coming back to find out what was taking so long, caught sight of the duel about to take place. Her eyes glinted, and she turned around to run back to the camp.

Meanwhile, Una struck out with a pommel strike, which Alistair easily parried with his shield. "Is that it?"

"Just getting started," she said. The tree branch swept toward his unprotected side, but he agilely stepped away from the blow. While she was off balance, he caught her with a shield bash. Una stumbled backward but didn't fall. Before he thought she'd had time to get set again, she clipped him in the side of the leg with a downward sweep of her branch.

They stepped apart, reevaluating now that they'd each taken a hit. Neither of them noticed the four pairs of eyes—two human, one elven, one canine—that peeked over the overhang to watch.

"Tell me something," Una said, whirling the branch above her head and striking. He parried again, grunting from the impact.

"Yes?"

"What set you off?"

He slashed at her. Una jumped back easily. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Last night," she began, lunging forward. The branch scraped along his side before he deflected it with his own. "You know." Both of them were too focused on the fight to blush at the memory of their dance. "And this morning? Suddenly you're screaming at me." She let her breath out in a whuff of effort as she parried his next strike.

"Do you know what could have happened to you, running ahead like that?" The worry he'd felt came back to him, and he attacked her in a flurry of strokes. Una fell back, blocking right and left. She took advantage of his momentary distraction to duck under his sword arm.

"It was fine, Alistair," she said impatiently, swinging the branch. He caught the impact on his shield.

"You ran into an ambush!" he shouted. "That elf almost killed you!" They both struck at the same time, and the force of the blow cracked both branches.

Above them, they heard Morrigan's surprising laughter. Both of them looked up to catch the rest of the party staring down at them from the bluff.

"What in Thedas?" Una asked.

"I won," Morrigan said with a rare smile. "I bet it would be a draw."

"You were betting on us?" Una's voice rose in outrage.

"And why not?" purred the elf in those damnably sultry tones. "When two such titans clash, it is always good to see who will come out the victor. I had my money on you, my lady."

Una flushed, and Alistair's jaw clenched. Leliana giggled. "I had my money on Alistair." At Una's raised eyebrow, she shrugged. "I thought the shield would give him an advantage."

Grenli barked and wagged his tail, and Una glared at him. "Now that everyone's been thoroughly entertained, can we all have something to eat and get some rest?" she snapped. She stalked off toward the campsite, trying to ignore the clinking of coins as Zevran and Leliana paid Morrigan her winnings.

Alistair and Una were both notably silent in camp that night, leaving Zevran and Leliana to keep up the conversation. The two of them told stories most of the evening, ignoring their sulky comrades. Alistair was still seething, and every gallant Antivan-accented compliment thrown in Una's direction made him want to find a whole company of darkspawn to smash.

Una, on the other hand, had calmed down enough to acknowledge that Alistair had a point about the rushing ahead. She felt guilty and self-conscious—but at the same time, she hated to back down from a fight. And it was all complicated by the small cloth-wrapped object in the bottom of her pack that she wanted to give him. She couldn't give it to him while he was angry at her, but she didn't want to wait too long, either. Still wrestling with her dilemma, she withdrew to her tent, pulling out a sheet of vellum.

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_Impulsive Pup has done it again. I rushed into an ambush, nearly got us all killed. Now we've added an Antivan Crow of dubious loyalty to our party—I was reminded of General Cairados, Father, in deciding to keep him with us. "It is better to keep the enemy at your side than let him out of your sight."_

_We're going now to the mages at the Circle to ask their help in saving a little boy—the son of Arl Eamon of Redcliffe—who has become an abomination. Perhaps I should have had the boy killed, but all I could see was Oren. How could I not try to save him?_

_Only now I'm in a huge argument with Alistair. We were dancing together last night (Did you know I can dance now? Apparently all it took was the right person to dance with!) and I think he almost kissed me. (Close your ears, Father.) I honestly thought I was going to collapse. I had no idea it would be so … overwhelming. Then he just—stopped. You'd be so proud of me, Mother. I didn't cry, or get angry, or let on how hurt and confused I was. I just took a deep breath, thanked him for the dance, and went to bed. I remembered what you said, and thought maybe if I let him step back he'd be more ready to step forward the next time. I hope. But then after the ambush, and after I let Zevran (the Crow) join the party, he got so angry with me, and of course I can never let an argument go, and we wound up fighting each other. (It was a draw, Father. The tree branches we were using as fighting swords broke. But I'll get him the next time.) So now … well, he's right, I was heedless and impulsive. Surprising, I know. I need to apologize, but I don't know how. And I hate fighting with him. It takes all the good out of everything we're doing. Guidance? Please?_

_All my love,_

_Pup_

Una peeked out from inside her tent. Everyone appeared to have gone to sleep, so she stepped out cautiously, clutching the paper. There was no stream nearby, as the campsite had been chosen so hastily. Instead, she crept to the fireside. It had burned low, but there was enough flame left. She laid the sheet of paper flat on top of the coals and watched as her words turned to ashes and flew up into the sky. Kneeling there, she listened for the familiar voices.

_Pup, you make your father proud. I always knew you had good training. _Una could almost see her mother's eye-roll and her father's teasing look as he boasted. _But now I also know you know how to apply it and how to use your heart and your head together. Ferelden is in good hands, my girl. The boy is growing on me. He's worthy of his father's blood. But I'm still not sure he's worthy of my daughter._ Una smiled fondly. Then her mother's voice cut in. _Una, my dear. Your father's praise, though fulsome as always, is deserved. You are a credit to your training. You know that you are too headstrong and too impulsive, and I know you struggle to curb those traits. And mostly succeed. But you are going to have to learn to admit when you are wrong. You'll never be able to have an equal relationship if you don't learn that sometimes you have to be the one to back down._ Her father's voice cut in. _And when, Eleanor, have you ever admitted you were wrong about anything?_ Then her mother: _Hush, Bryce. If I'd ever been wrong, you'd have been the first to point it out to me._ Una's smile stretched into a grin. She loved it when they wrangled with each other—their deep love always showed underneath. _We love you, Una. Our Pup is growing up into an exceptional woman_.

As the voices went silent, Una brushed away a single tear that had escaped the corner of her eye. How she missed them.

Then a smooth voice spoke from the darkness. "Ah, the lovely and mysterious Warden. She writes feverishly. She burns her paper, then she listens, she smiles … and she weeps."

Una jumped, her heart pounding. Then she realized. "Zevran. You don't have a tent. I had forgotten."

"Clearly so." She heard him shift on his bedroll and cough slightly.

"How are you doing? Are your injuries healing?"

"The ones to my body, yes. The ones to my pride?" There was a silence, and she could imagine him giving an eloquent shrug, if she couldn't see it in the darkness. "It is an interesting predicament, to be shown such mercy by one I would have killed only a few short hours ago."

"Does it tempt you to want to go back on your word?"

"Having watched you take on not only my men but your own, as well? I have no wish to be on the receiving end of your greatsword. Or your tree branch." The smirk was obvious in his voice.

"You strike me as the sort of man who would not necessarily need to attack from the front. Or with weaponry."

He laughed. "You are not only gorgeous but also perceptive. Yes, I have my many ways. I have been well-trained, you see. But now I put those skills at your service."

"Why? Just because the Crows would kill you?"

"That, yes. Also, the Blight spreads. Soon it will take all of Ferelden, and after that? Even Antiva may fall. You appear to be the only one fighting it, and you … ahem, could use some help."

Una stood up, brushing dirt off her knees. "I appreciate the assistance, Zevran. All the same, though, don't expect to take a turn at the cooking any time soon."

"Ah, but you should taste my jambalaya. With beautiful Antivan sausage," he purred. She could hear him shifting as he lay back onto his bedroll.

She ducked back into her tent, tying the flaps firmly closed behind her. Outside, she heard the pad of soft paws as Grenli emerged from the darkness and flopped down to lie in front of the tent opening. Exhausted, Una lay down in her blankets and was asleep in only a few minutes.

* * *

_A/N: I'm quite fond of this chapter as well, although I have to confess I have no idea if you can fight with tree branches the way I've described! _


	11. Rose

_Thanks for reading, everyone! I hope all my New England readers survived the blizzard in good shape. I, for one, am ready to see some fresh green grass again!_

* * *

During their travel the next day, Alistair kept his distance. Una couldn't tell if he was still angry or not.

As they left the shady spot where they had paused for lunch, Leliana was walking with Zevran, ostensibly to keep an eye on him in case his wounds pained him any further. Alistair hung back, letting the other two walk ahead. He liked to have the elf in sight. Just in case. He didn't see Morrigan, as usual, and Grenli was chasing a butterfly by the side of the trail. Una had been leading as they left the glade, but now he didn't see her.

Until he passed by a pair of beech trees growing by the wayside. Una stepped out from between them. Her green armor, an ancient elven set they had found in a ruin in the Forest, had blended right in with the trees. "Alistair?" she asked hesitantly. "Can I talk to you?"

"Did you know that armor completely camouflages you in the trees?" he grumbled, but he let her fall in step with him.

"I did know that, actually. It's one of the reasons I like it. Also, it's comfortable and it moves well." Her voice trailed off, and they walked in silence for a few minutes. "Um, Alistair."

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry about yesterday. You were right, that was reckless and impulsive and stupid, and I could have gotten us all killed. I'll pay more attention next time." The words spilled out in a rush.

He glanced sidewise at her. She was staring down at her boots as they scuffed along the track. Alistair felt a strange combination of guilt for making her admit she was wrong, pride in her that she was able to, and triumph that he'd won the first battle of wills. "I shouldn't have yelled at you about it," he said. "I could have been more, uh, thoughtful in my criticism."

She grinned. "I wouldn't have listened. Sometimes you have to beat me over the head to make a point."

"I'll keep that in mind."

As she thought about the literal beating they'd tried to give each other the day before, she said, "Or maybe we could just learn to communicate more effectively. You know, without the fighting."

"And never figure out which one of us is better?" His eyebrows lifted. "This is a question the ages insist must be answered."

"You're on, buddy. I'll wipe the floor with you."

"You wish."

They both laughed, and walked for a while in companionable silence. Much better, Una reflected. Then she remembered the object in her pack. "Alistair, wait a second, will you?"

"Sure." He stopped walking, watching her curiously as she jumbled things around in her pack until she found what she sought carefully tucked away in the bottom. Alistair assumed it was some trinket she'd picked up at a vendor's stall somewhere. She did that, bought little things the rest of them liked just because. It was a generous part of her nature. Although come to think of it, Alistair thought, none of them had ever gotten anything for her. Maybe he'd have to work on that.

Una straightened up, handing him a small bundle wrapped in a piece of soft wool. As he unwrapped it, he could tell by her air of expectancy that this was no ordinary trinket. Then the wool fell away, and he stared at the amulet in his hands. "This— This is my mother's amulet! It has to be. But why isn't it broken?"

Una explained that she had found the amulet in Arl Eamon's desk when she was looking for more vellum. She'd guessed it was Alistair's mother's amulet as soon as she'd seen it, assuming that Eamon must have painstakingly put the pieces back together.

"I don't understand," Alistair said. "Why would he do that?"

"Maybe you mean more to him than you thought," Una suggested.

Alistair found the idea staggering. He'd harbored such resentment all this time over his dismissal from Redcliffe Castle. It had never occurred to him that the Arl may have felt conflicted about it. They talked about Arl Eamon for a moment more, then Alistair frowned as he turned the amulet over in his hands. He looked up at Una. "Did you remember me mentioning this?" At her nod, he said, "Thank you. I'm used to people not really listening when I go on about things."

In his eyes, Una could see that at last, all the defenses were gone. Looking out at her was the little boy scarred and lonely from a lifetime of rejection. It was to that little boy that she said, "Of course I remembered. You're special to me."

For a minute the eyes lit with something that made Una's heart leap in her chest. Then the defenses slammed back in, one after the other. He made a ham-handed joke to escape the moment. Una smiled. Patting him on the back, she said, "You're welcome, Alistair." Then she sped up to catch up with Grenli, throwing a stick for the mabari to fetch.

Alistair watched them as they gamboled together. Special? No one in his life had ever called him special before, or indicated that he was important to them. Now in the space of a couple of minutes he'd learned that Arl Eamon had cared enough about him to piece together his precious amulet and hold on to it for all this time, and that Una thought enough of him to remember him mentioning the amulet. He felt suddenly light and warm, and he couldn't help grinning. Broadly. No matter if Morrigan looked at him funny because of it.

That night as they sat by the campfire, he tried to think of something he could give Una, something that would tell her that he saw all the little things she did for all of them and how hard she tried to cover her doubts and her fears. At last it came to him, but only after everyone had turned in for the night. It would keep until their next night in camp, he decided.

The next morning they were ferried across Lake Calenhad to the Circle Tower, only to find that abominations were loose in the Tower and the Templars had sealed the mages in and left them to die. Una talked her way in, as usual reluctant to accept that death was the best option, and inside the Tower doors they found Wynne, the mage they had met in Ostagar, holding the door against the abominations. Leliana had stayed outside the Tower with Grenli, and now Morrigan refused to go any further. Her scorn for the mages who allowed themselves to be locked in a tower their whole lives burned bitterly in her, and she was not going to help save them or their cage. So Una and Alistair and Zevran went forward with Wynne, making their way through the ruined rooms of the Tower.

On the third floor, after none of them knew how long they'd been fighting their way through demons and abominations and the possessed souls of the dead, Una called a halt. "We'll rest here for an hour, have something to eat and maybe a small nap, and then go on." At Wynne's murmur of protest, Una said, "We're all exhausted, Wynne. I suspect the higher we go, the harder it will be. I want everyone as close to full strength as possible. A rest now may save us all later." Even Wynne had to nod in agreement at that.

Una pulled the mage aside as the other two dug some food from their packs. "Wynne, what happened here?"

"I don't know," Wynne said, shaking her head. "Everyone had gone to some kind of meeting. I was still recovering from Ostagar, so I didn't go. The first I knew anything had gone wrong was when I heard shrieks in the hallway, and saw people running. Three of my former apprentices became abominations before my eyes." She closed her eyes, shivering.

"Then what?" Una asked after a sympathetic moment.

"Then those of us who were left … ran. I erected the barrier to keep the demons from getting the children once it became clear there were no more of us coming out. What may have happened to the others, I dare not think. I hope that Irving and those with him are still safe." The mage put a hand up to her face, rubbing at her eyes.

Una put her hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Try and rest a bit if you can," she said. "I know it's difficult, but I promise you, we will get to them."

"I almost believe you," Wynne said softly.

Zevran was just finishing a dry biscuit as Una joined him.

"It is an exciting life you lead, beautiful lady," he said, looking up at her.

"Quite. I'm sure yours has been equally so, though," she said, hunkering down next to him.

"Oh, so true," he said reflectively. "Antiva … how I miss her."

"What do you miss?"

"What do I not miss? The warmth, the beauty, the money to be made killing people …"

"I hope your track record in Antiva is better than it is in Ferelden," Una said dryly.

"By all means," he purred. "I am quite … fearsome in Antiva. But do you know what I miss the most about Antiva?" he said, turning thoughtful. "The smell of Antivan leather."

"Is that a euphemism?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not in this case, no." He laughed quietly. Alistair looked up from the crumbly hunk of cheese he was eating, and his eyes narrowed. Una didn't notice, but Zevran did, and he laughed harder, edging just a bit closer to Una. "You see, when I was bought by the Crows to be raised as an assassin, I lived in a small apartment above a leather-worker's shop. Many of the others complained of the stench, but I grew to love it. To this day, Antivan leather is the scent I find most enticing. There was a pair of boots I was eyeing," he murmured. "The money from this one simple task—taking down a Grey Warden in Ferelden—was to have bought me these boots. But alas! As it turns out the Warden was a deadly sex goddess who is bent on using me for her own … pleasure?" He tilted an eyebrow.

"It's your skill in battle I value, Zevran. Not your more exotic accomplishments."

"It is too bad," he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall as she got up.

As soon as Una turned from the others to find Alistair, she felt her tension began to ease. It had not gone unnoticed in camp—except by the two of them—how she always saved Alistair for last as she made her rounds of the team. What Una did know was that the moment when she could sit down next to Alistair and relax was the time she most looked forward to. It was her special present to herself, getting to spend a few minutes talking to him at the end of every day.

He sat against the wall of the hallway, studying his rose. She and Leliana had speculated about that rose, having seen it appear in his hands a number of times since they'd left Lothering. It never seemed to fade or die, and bouncing around in Alistair's pack hadn't seemed to harm it any. Una walked over, sliding down the wall to sit next to him. "Everything okay with you?" she asked.

"What?"

"Hello? Alistair? Anyone in there?" She knocked playfully on the side of his head.

"Sorry," he said. "I was … lost in thought." He looked at the rose, then sideways at her. He hadn't intended to do this right now, but he hadn't noticed her coming toward him in time to put the rose away. Besides, who knew what awaited them farther up in the Tower? There might not be time later. "Here," he said abruptly, putting the rose into her hands. "Look at this. Do you know what this is?"

Una raised an eyebrow at him. "Is this a trick question?"

"Yes, absolutely. I'm trying to trick you. Is it working?" He grinned nervously. "Aw, I almost had you, didn't I?"

"Oh, yes. You're wily." She still didn't know where this was going.

"Nefarious, even," he said, with an evil laugh that made Una laugh and want to kiss him all at the same time. Then his smile faded, and he said more seriously, "I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place filled with so much despair and ugliness?' … I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So I've had it ever since."

Una turned the rose in her hands, looking at him curiously. "What do you intend to do with it?"

"I thought I might … give it to you, actually," he said softly. "In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."

Catching her breath, Una fought the tears that stung her eyes. Instead she borrowed a page from his book. With a slightly watery chuckle, she asked, "So you think of me as a gentle flower?"

He laughed. "A _gentle_ flower? No, I wouldn't exactly say that." Alistair glanced at her sideways again, not sure how she was taking this. "I suppose it's a little silly, isn't it?" he asked. He tried to tell her how much he appreciated her listening to all his complaining, and how badly he felt that her experience as a Grey Warden had been so much less than it should have been, but the words just didn't seem to be coming out right. Finally she looked at him, and he saw the shine of the tears in her eyes, and suddenly he knew just what he wanted her to know. "I thought maybe I could say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this … darkness."

She sniffed, her lip quivering. It was so unbelievable to be sitting here next to him in the midst of this nightmare and have him make this lovely gesture as if they were … anywhere else. "I feel the same way about you," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Alistair bumped her shoulder gently with his. "I'm glad you like it," he said. For once he looked simply happy. Then he cleared his throat. "Now, if we could move past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right on to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it." He grinned at her.

She grinned back, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes. "All right, then. Off with the armor," she said, chuckling.

He laughed, albeit a bit nervously. "Bluff called. Damn! She saw right through me."

"You're cute when you're bashful," she said. She smiled at him, her whole-souled smile that took his breath away. And he thought how glad he was that they were sitting down. Because if they'd been standing up, if he could have easily put his arms around her and pushed her up against the wall, he'd have had to kiss her. Had to. Despite the gore-spattered armor and the horrors in the Tower and the amusement of Zevran and the undoubted disapproval of Wynne. And he thought, from how Una was staring at him, that maybe she felt the same way. Oh, this rest stop had been a great idea, he thought. He felt as if he could take on a whole legion of abominations single-handed, if it meant she would look at him like that.

And then they opened a door and stepped into a room … and Una woke up in the Fade. Alone.


	12. Exhaustion

_Thanks for reading, all of you! And happy Valentine's day ... although the last chapter was a bit more romance-themed._

* * *

A Sloth demon lurking in the midst of the Tower had put their whole party to sleep. Una was alone in what pretended to be the Grey Warden home base of Weisshaupt Fortress, and the image of Duncan tried to convince her that the Blight was over. It all rang false to Una, and she found herself in battle with Duncan's image. This she could never tell Alistair about, she reflected in amusement.

The Sloth demon's realm turned out to be a vast puzzle to solve, involving changing into a mouse, a golem, and two different kinds of spirits in order to defeat the five demons who ran the various islands in the realm. In the process, she found the other members of her team, having to talk them all out of their dreams. Alistair was the last one she found, so she was prepared for him to be in the throes of a dream: deep in false domestic bliss living with a sister Una hadn't known he had. Otherwise, she might have thrown herself at him on sight, so glad was she to have found him. Unfortunately, after she'd found each of her companions, they awakened from the dream realm and left her to continue battling alone. By the time they were all reunited to fight the Sloth demon, Una was completely drained. It seemed as though she'd been fighting in the demon's realm all by herself for an eternity. On the other hand, she thought, it was good to know she could fight alone when necessary.

At last they were back in the room in the middle of the Tower. The others all looked a bit shame-faced, and Una had to admit she was a little resentful that she'd been the only one to retain her awareness. Even the mage had fallen under the demon's spell. She didn't want to talk to them. Refusing to meet anyone's eyes, she waved them all forward. There was a Tower to save, after all.

They battled their way through the rest of the Tower, finding First Enchanter Irving and a few others who had been able to hold out against the abominations still imprisoned in the Harrowing chamber at the very top. It was a near thing a couple of times in that fight, but they took out the abominations and were able to restore the Tower to the control of the mages and the Templars. In gratitude, the First Enchanter not only pledged his support against the darkspawn, but also agreed to bring a group of mages to Redcliffe in order to try to save the boy Connor.

Una thanked him, so weary that she could barely stand upright. Then both Una and Irving were given a surprise. Wynne, having fought at Una's side all the way through the Tower, asked leave to follow the Grey Warden, to join the fight against the Blight. As she watched them discuss the idea, Una could tell that great affection flowed between the older woman and the First Enchanter, and that Irving could not deny Wynne her request. Una herself was grateful for the addition. Wynne was a powerful healer who would be very useful in their travels.

The group of them left the Tower, turning their steps back toward Redcliffe. They didn't get very far before Una called a halt, choosing the first likely campsite. It was only midafternoon, but she felt like she could sleep for a year. She didn't even bother to set up a tent, and didn't ask the others if they needed anything. She simply unrolled her bedroll in a shady spot, lay down, and was asleep almost immediately.

The others tiptoed around her as best they could. Those who had not been in the Tower eyed her curiously, wondering what could have been that draining. Those who had been in the Fade had some idea of what she had been through, but even they couldn't really imagine it. Single-handedly fighting her way through five different nightmare versions of the Tower, knowing all the time that only she stood between them and the failure of their mission, worrying all the way what was happening to her companions—it had been the single most exhausting experience of her life.

The nap helped refresh her body, but Una was still weary in spirit when she awoke. Dinner was bubbling on the fire, and everyone was getting acquainted, she noticed. Except, as always, Morrigan. Una got ready to do her rounds, hoping to get a few chats in before dinner. But before she could do so, she heard a happy bark, and a hundred plus pounds of mabari hurtled through camp, landing squarely in her chest. She fell over with him, laughing. Grenli could raise her spirits like no one else. She grimaced as he panted happily in her face. "Eww, Gren. What have you been eating?" He barked again, and she shook her head. "No, forget it. Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"The dog is a bit rank," Wynne said calmly, reaching a surprisingly strong hand (or not surprising? The battles in the Tower had demonstrated that Wynne, though old, was still youthful in spirit) to help Una up. "Do you think he would object to being bathed?"

Una looked speculatively at the dog, who cowered and whined. "I think it's a good idea. He is on the smelly side." Grenli growled lightly. "Gren, do you want the darkspawn to track us by your smell?" Una said in mock sternness. The dog barked. "Oh, you only think I'm joking," she said in reply. "Wynne, he's all yours. Grenli, behave."

"Excellent," said Wynne to the dog. "I will get my soaps and you shall have your bath after supper, Grenli." The dog whined again, but he snuffled Wynne's hand with his nose forgivingly. Una smiled at both of them. Reaching into her pack, she took out a wrapped bundle and turned her steps toward Morrigan's fire.

"Mother's grimoire?!" Morrigan exclaimed as she took the black book out of the package, cradling it reverently in her arms. A light glinted in her clear amber eyes as she studied it speculatively. She looked hungry and somehow furtive.

"What do you hope to learn from it?" Una asked cautiously, not sure if she really wanted the answer.

"Secrets," Morrigan hissed. The firelight picked out pinpoints of light in her eyes, and they glittered feverishly. "Many things Mother never wanted me to know."

"Good luck with that, then," Una said, turning away from the mage with a shiver.

"Una," Morrigan called. She didn't usually use names, other than the scornful way her tongue rolled itself around the word "Alistair". Una looked back, trying not to think of the strange sparks between the witch and the other Grey Warden. "Thank you for this … my friend."

Una nodded, smiling slightly, before turning back to the more boisterous gathering at the other fire. It was nice to be on Morrigan's good side, she thought, but it would not do to trust her too much.

Dinner was being dished up, and Una sank down next to Alistair, taking a plate from him. "Do you know what this is?" she asked him, eyeing the plate suspiciously.

"No, can't say that I do." He speared a lump of something, chewing thoughtfully. "It's not bad, though."

"Seriously, you'll eat anything." But she attacked the food as well. She was ravenous.

"You know, that's a Grey Warden thing," he said.

"Eating anything?"

"And everything. Increased appetite is one of the things that changes about you after the Joining."

"What are the others?"

He looked at her thoughtfully. "I asked Duncan that too, once, and all I got was, 'You'll see.'"

"Just try that line on me," Una growled.

His grin shot a bolt of heat straight down into the pit of her stomach. "Oh, I have other lines for you. Trust me."

On any other day, the promise in his voice would have had her imagining all sorts of delicious things. Today, though, after she got her breathing under control, she just nudged him in the arm, not gently, with the point of her fork. "Out with it."

"Well, there are the nightmares," he said, serious again.

"I know about those." Una shuddered, trying not to think of the dreams of the previous night.

"They're supposed to be worse if you Join during a Blight," he said sympathetically. "You learn to block it out after a while, but at first, it's hard." They ate quietly for a few minutes. Then he said, "Once you reach a certain age, the _real_ nightmares start. That's how a Grey Warden knows his time has come."

A heavy, dark feeling settled on Una's shoulders. "What do you mean, 'his time has come'?"

"Oh, that's right. We never had time to tell you that part, did we?" At her shake of the head, Alistair said, "In addition to all the other wonderful things about being a Grey Warden, you'll never have to worry about dying from old age." Her eyes widened as he continued. "You've got 30 years to live. Give or take. The taint … it's a death sentence. Ultimately your body won't be able to take it. When the time comes, most Grey Wardens go to Orzammar and die in battle instead of … waiting. It's tradition."

Una sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "How cheery."

"And you wondered why we kept the Joining a secret from the new recruits! There you have it."

"I never wondered that," she said dully. "I understand."

"You know," Alistair said, his eyes on the fire, "Duncan had started having the nightmares again. He told me privately that it wouldn't be long before he went to Orzammar. I guess … he got what he wanted."

"I guess he did," Una said. She got up, leaving her half-empty plate on the ground. Alistair watched her, sorry that all that had to come up on a night when she was so obviously at the end of her rope. But she'd have had to know eventually, he thought, wishing there was something he could do to cushion the shock. Wishing he could hold her for a few minutes and let her lean on him … wishing he knew if that was even what she wanted. For the love of Andraste, he'd thought maybe they were approaching some kind of understanding when he'd given her that rose, but tonight he'd tried his best flirting. And while her eyes had gone all hazy, she hadn't smiled. Not at all.

Grenli came padding over and sat down next to Alistair. "No, I'm not sharing. And whatever you're thinking … keep it to yourself." The dog yipped happily, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Alistair had the uncomfortable feeling the mabari was laughing at him.

In the darkness under the trees Una rubbed a hand over her face. The hits just kept on coming tonight. It was turning out to be quite the evening.

"The lovely Warden seems pensive," Zevran lilted at her elbow. "It was a long day."

"It was several of them," she said, fingers gripping her aching temples.

"You know, I have some skill in the area of … tension relief."

She eyed him warily. "Pass."

"I speak merely of the fine and relaxing art of massage."

"Right. Zev, do you honestly think I'm ready to have your hands at my back?"

"Point taken, beautiful lady. But do not think that I missed you calling me Zev. I take it as a good sign." There was a brief pause, and then the smooth voice went on, more seriously. "I wanted to thank you for your efforts in the Tower. It is to my eternal shame that I allowed myself to be drawn into a nightmare such as that one, powerless to remove myself from it. I will not forget that you saved me."

Una stopped, turning to look at him. His brown eyes were unusually forthright as they held hers. "You're welcome, Zev." Having her efforts acknowledged meant more to her than she would have expected. "I appreciate the sentiment."

He bowed, smiling crookedly. Then, as if to cover his display of actual emotion, he purred, "If the beautiful goddess requires me to perform any acts of appreciation …" His voice trailed off suggestively.

"Not going to happen, Zev. Today, tomorrow, and every day after that—I'm not interested. Let me make that very clear."

He arched a golden eyebrow. "But of course. There is no need to tell me twice. I have eyes, after all, to see who watches whom." His eyes twinkled at her, and he turned back to the campfire.

Alistair had watched this exchange, straining to see them in the shadows, with a growing tightness in his chest. He couldn't hear what they were saying, and he desperately wanted to. What if that smarmy little elf was more to her taste? Certainly he had a way with words, whereas Alistair felt he tripped over his tongue more often than not when she was around, especially recently. He was relieved when he saw Zevran come back alone, but seethed at the self-satisfied smirk on the assassin's face.

Una slowly continued around the perimeter before returning to the campfire. Dinner was over by the time she got back, and it was a gloomy night all around, she could see. She sat down next to Leliana. "Thank you for cooking," she said to her friend. "It can't be easy to feed this whole crew with our limited resources."

Leliana laughed. "It is my pleasure." She studied Una for a moment. "I think, today, I am happy to have been cooking instead of fighting."

Una's laugh was bitter. "You can say that again."

"I am reminded of a song sung to me many years ago," Leliana said. "It was when my mother died. This wise elven woman comforted me and told me that we shouldn't fear death, or hate it. Death is just another beginning. One day we will all shed our earthly bodies to allow our spirits to fly free."

Una's eyes stung with tears. "That is comforting," she said, her voice quavering a bit.

Leliana went on, "It's a beautiful sentiment, I think—one that brings peace and hope to the grieving." Taking a deep breath, she began to sing. The song was lovely, although in the elven tongue, so only Zevran and Alistair, thanks to all his time spent with the kitchen workers, understood much of it.

Una took a look around at her companions. Leliana stared into the fire as she sang. Her voice was filled with emotion. Grenli lay down with a large doggy sigh after the first few notes, looking pensive. Was he missing the cook, Nan, who used to sneak him treats while complaining about him to all and sundry? Zevran's face was a mask, but Una could see that his jaw was clenched tightly, and wondered what emotions he was trying so hard to hide. Glancing over at Morrigan, Una saw the other woman shake her head, as if impatient—but with Leliana or herself? Did emotion ever factor into Morrigan's decisions? Did she ever feel the need for a real friend? Transferring her gaze to Wynne, Una watched the play of feelings across the mage's face. With all her long life behind her, Wynne must have lost many people she cared about. Una was curious what Wynne would have done if, in her youth, she'd been faced with her life having a predetermined end date. Not given in to despair, Una was sure. Watching the strong lines of the older woman's face, now touched with a smile, now frowning, Una thought that Wynne would have determined to do as much with her thirty years as she could. Taking a deep breath, Una felt some of the tension leave her. With all these people looking to her for leadership, could she do any less? This was no time to wallow in self-pity.

Finally she turned her gaze on Alistair. As their eyes met, he looked away. It was hard to tell in the firelight, but he appeared to be blushing. What had he been thinking? She watched him for a few moments as he gazed thoughtfully into the fire, wishing that she could go and sit with him, have him put his arms around her and hold her. Or even better, that she could take him into her tent and close the flap and just lose herself in the comfort of his arms for a while. Now it was Una's turn to blush, and she was glad when Leliana finished singing.

"Thank you, my friend," she said. "That helped." She reached for Leliana, embracing her in a hug. It felt so good to lean on another person, even if only for a few seconds. How she had missed the warm relationship with her family! But she seemed to be building a new family here with her companions. With them at her side, maybe she could actually do all the things her country needed her to do.

* * *

_A/N: Yet again, I appear to have skipped right over a major part of the plot. I could have done a lot more with the Tower, if I had it to do over again ... although I'm not sure I'm sorry I bypassed the Fade!_


	13. Answers

_Continued thanks to all of you for reading and following along. I worried about posting this story for years, and you all make me very glad I decided to do it at last._

* * *

With the spell of the song broken, everyone began to turn in. They had outfitted themselves a bit at the little town at the edge of Lake Calenhad, so now there were tents for everyone. Una got up, her muscles aching, to begin her turn on watch. Then she jumped as a warm hand closed on her arm out of the darkness.

"Sorry," Alistair said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay. I just can't believe I actually let you sneak up on me."

He looked thoughtful. "I don't know if that says more about how tired you are or how great my sneaking skills have become." Quirking an eyebrow, he grinned at her.

"Oh, definitely the first one," she said, but her eyes twinkled.

Alistair sighed in relief. It had worried him earlier when he couldn't get a smile out of her. "I wanted to tell you not to worry about your watch tonight. I'll take it for you."

"You don't have to do that. I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You're exhausted and you need rest. Also, I want to."

"Really?"

"It's the least I can do. You fought your way through countless demons to get us all out of the Fade, and you did it all by yourself. Without you … we'd all still be there, our life's essence slowly being drained from us. Like Niall." They both shuddered, thinking of the young apprentice whose life had been siphoned off of him to support the Sloth demon's realm. "I already owe you so much," Alistair said. "For being willing to take the lead, for pulling me out of the darkness after Ostagar, now for having the courage and determination to fight for all of us. You— I mean, I … You deserve a break," he finished, cursing himself for a coward. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but what if she didn't feel the same way? What if he made a complete fool of himself and things got all awkward and he couldn't talk to her any more?

"Thank you, Alistair," she said gratefully. This time he got the smile he'd been looking for. It wasn't _the_ smile, the one that lit her whole face, but it was a start. He watched her as she ducked into her tent. Grenli moved in front of the flap, as usual, and lay down, watching the door. It was a sad and sorry thing to be jealous of a dog, Alistair reflected as he began his rounds.

But Una couldn't sleep. She lay staring into the dark, her mind racing. Finally she gave up. Sitting up, she lit a candle and dug a sheet of vellum from her pack.

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_Words cannot begin to express the events of the last few days. We saved the Circle of Magi, which had been overrun by abominations. In the midst of it, we were enchanted by a Sloth demon and locked away in the Fade. Somehow I was the only one with the presence of mind to be aware of my surroundings, and I had to fight my way through so many different monsters and puzzles, shape-changing into various things along the way, in order to save my companions. I've never been so completely alone in my life. I am proud of how I did, but it was so hard. And I'm angry with the others for not being able to help me. And I feel horribly guilty because I am trying to keep you with me. Are you trapped in the Fade? Are these letters causing you to be tortured in some kind of demon realm because I can't let you go? I don't want that, much as I continue to love and miss you and depend on your counsel._

_Then, talking with Alistair tonight, I found out that Grey Wardens only live for thirty years after the Joining. It seems so short. But fifty years of life is about what you had. I'm sure you feel it was too short. Would you have liked to have known at my age that thirty more years would be all you had ahead of you? Would you have done anything differently? I know that thirty years can be a long time. I also know that I could fall in battle tomorrow. But I still feel that I am struggling with this. I liked thinking that the years stretched out before me in all their glory. And they still do … just not as limitlessly as I had thought._

_You'll notice there is no Alistair angst tonight. Partly this is because I have enough other angst to keep my mind occupied. Partly this is because things do seem to be going well. He gave me a rose he had been treasuring, and he called me "rare and wonderful". He's still confused and unsure, but I think we're getting there. Thanks to you, Mother!_

_Please tell me if I need to stop writing, to let you go on to be with the Maker. I couldn't bear it if I thought I was causing you pain._

_All my love,_

_Pup_

She sat for a moment staring at the paper, not sure if she truly wanted the answer this time. But she had to know. The idea of them in pain was too much for her to live with. Quietly, she untied the tent flap and slipped out. The fire was dying down. Grenli made a questioning noise, and she patted him on the head. He nosed her hand, sniffing the letter, and whined softly. "It's okay, Gren," she whispered. "Just getting some answers." He put his head back down on his paws as she moved over to the fire.

She held the paper over the fire, her hand trembling slightly, and hung onto it as it burnt, letting go only at the last second. For long minutes she stared into the dying flames, composing herself, listening. Finally she heard the soft voice of her mother. _My dearest girl. What a world and what a life in which to achieve adulthood. Your deepening thoughts and emotions fill us with pride. _Her father's voice joined in. _These are the moments when I wish your questions were as simple as how to win the heart of a young man, or, even better, how to slice through a darkspawn's neck. I found those a lot easier than this. _There was a pause. Then her mother spoke again. _Una, you bring us joy. It is our privilege to watch you as you make your way through the world, as you learn and grow and save those things that are important. You could never cause us pain. We are here for you as long as you need us. _

Tears began seeping out of Una's closed eyes, rolling down her cheeks. The relief was nearly overwhelming. Her father's voice came again. _As for the thirty years, you have them in front of you, at your feet. Whether they are 'enough' is up to you, isn't it? _She heard him sigh. _A century with your mother would not have been enough, and yet every day with her was gift enough for a lifetime. If I have sorrow for a life cut short, it is because I wanted more time with you and with Fergus. I don't know if I would have liked to know that the cloth of life was already measured and precut for me, but I think I would have taken it as a challenge to see that my thirty years held as much as anyone else's sixty. Or ninety. You are _my_ girl, Pup. I think, in the long run, that will be your response also._

Una used the tail of her shirt to wipe her eyes, smiling. Her father was right, they were very alike. And what a romantic idea, that a lifetime with your love was only a moment, but each moment was a lifetime. She thought how the world narrowed to just the two of them when she was with Alistair. What would it be like if they were a couple?

Then a broad hand came down on the top of her head and tilted it back. Alistair was frowning down at her. "Do I have to put you to bed personally?" he growled. "You are supposed to be resting."

She grinned up at him wickedly. "I think those ideas are mutually exclusive, don't you?"

He thought about that for a moment, then blushed all the way up to his ears. "That was _not_ what I meant," he said, hastily removing his hand from her head and stepping back.

Una stood up, noticing that he took another couple of steps back as she did so. She debated pushing the moment, but she was exhausted, and with her burning questions answered, she thought she could actually sleep. "Well," she said, sighing in mock disappointment. "If you're sure …"

He held the tent flap open for her. "In you go, woman. And don't come out until you've been to sleep."

"Yes, ser!"

As she ducked past him, she heard him say, "Pleasant dreams, Una."

"Oh, they will be," she said, her voice suggestive. "Trust me."

The tent flap was firmly closed behind her and she heard him muttering to himself as he walked away. Grenli made some sounds in his throat that Una suspected were laughter. Apparently Alistair got that, too. She heard him hiss something at the dog, who whimpered a little, but still sounded amused.

As she pulled the blanket over her, she thought about her parents, and her brother. Nothing had been heard of Fergus's patrol; Una assumed they were dead. With so much else to think about, she had put her grief over the loss of her brother out of her mind. She thought of dinner, that last night in the castle, trying to recreate the conversations in her head: her mother's pretended exasperation, her father's teasing, Fergus sneaking kisses from Oriana, Oren's piping little voice, Orana's gentle smile. She missed them all so much. But as long as she had her memories, she hadn't really lost them. Not entirely. Sighing, Una closed her eyes, listening to Grenli's soft snores and the sound of Alistair patrolling the perimeter of the camp. And then she heard nothing else until morning.


	14. Alone

_Thanks for reading, everyone! I appreciate it._

* * *

The next day they made it back to Redcliffe Castle, finding that the mages had already arrived. Apparently it was shorter to take a boat across Lake Calenhad than go around. Una wished someone had thought to mention that, and perhaps to offer her people a ride. They could have used the rest.

Preparations were made for the ritual, then everyone was banished from the chamber except the mages. Una took a look back at Wynne, lying down with a peaceful expression on her face, before the door closed.

It seemed to take forever, as Una paced back and forth before the door and Isolde knelt in a corner, murmuring ceaseless prayers. But eventually it was over. The demon had been defeated, Connor and Wynne were safe.

The mage and child were both resting and the rest of Una's crew were at work reoutfitting, refurbishing, and generally preparing for the next step on the journey when Bann Teagan and Arlessa Isolde called for Una to join them. She debated for a moment before asking Alistair to come along with her. Alistair's affection for the Arl and his family was likely to affect how the conversation went, but she couldn't deny him the chance to be part of it, at least.

They walked into the Arlessa's sitting room, where Una found herself at the receiving end of Isolde's fulsome expressions of gratitude. "Really, my lady," Una said. "Anyone else would have done the same."

Watching her, Alistair could see she meant it. She honestly thought most people would have gone so far out of their way to save an abomination. What an extraordinary woman, he thought, and how much he had grown to care for her. Suddenly he knew he couldn't go another day without telling her how he felt. If she didn't share those feelings, so be it—but he couldn't hide them any longer.

His decision made, he was able to return his attention to the conversation at hand. Bann Teagan was asking Una's opinion about what to do with the blood mage, Jowan, who had poisoned the Arl in the first place. Alistair knew exactly what he would do, but wasn't sure what Una's decision would be. He could tell she was uncomfortable with a man such as the Bann asking for her guidance, but then she took a deep breath and Alistair saw her golden eyes darken.

"Jowan knows the consequences of his deeds," she said. "He should be made to suffer them." Una took a deep breath. "He should be executed."

"Really?" The Bann seemed surprised.

"Justice must be served," Una said, and there was steel in her voice as she thought not of the blood mage but of Arl Howe. Isolde murmured her agreement in an equally harsh tone.

"Very well," said Bann Teagan. "Then I won't wait for Eamon to be healed. We will deal with the blood mage immediately." He looked at Una again. "There remains the question of how to heal Eamon."

"Is there no way other than finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Una asked, hoping against hope. She knew where this conversation was going; she knew, especially with Alistair standing there, that she had no choice but to agree to go off on this wild goose chase … but she wasn't going to be sent off chasing a mythological curative without at least some protest.

"We've tried everything," Isolde said wearily. "Even the mages cannot help Eamon now. The ashes of Andraste are our only hope."

"And you are the only person who can find them," Teagan added.

They were strong shoulders, Alistair reflected. Strong, lovely shoulders. But could they hold all of this? Avenging her family, forming an army with a cobbled-together crew, resolving a civil war, stopping the Blight, and now finding a religious relic that had been lost for centuries, if it had ever existed at all. There had to be a limit to what one young person could handle.

"All right," Una said. "I'll do my best." If she sighed or felt that this was an impossible task she was signing up for, Alistair couldn't tell. Ferelden needed Arl Eamon in good health, after all.

Isolde spent a few minutes detailing to Una all the progress the knights had made toward finding the Urn. It turned out their best first step would be going to Denerim to find a man named Brother Genitivi, a scholar who might know something of the Urn's location. It wasn't much of a lead, but better than nothing, Una thought. Taking their leave of Teagan and Isolde, she and Alistair left the family quarters. As they walked down the hall, Una kept up a running stream of commentary—things they needed before heading out, whether it was better to head for Denerim next or go on to Orzammar—to try to keep from thinking what an impossibility she had just signed up for. She'd been so confident they could save the boy; she only wished she could feel equally confident about the father.

Alistair wasn't paying attention. His head was filled with what he would say to her, how he would get her alone in camp without anyone noticing … when he realized they were alone right now. Could he do this now? Swallowing hard, he thought he had to. The moment was here, he had to take it. Spying an open door to one of the guest rooms, Alistair put a hand on the small of Una's back, guiding her inside. Following her, he closed the door, leaning back against it.

Una cocked her head, looking at him quizzically, searching his face for some clue to what they were doing in there. She could still feel the touch of his hand on her back and her legs felt weak. Backing up, she sat down on the bed, crossing her legs and looking up at him expectantly.

Alistair's mouth went dry as she did so. She made such a lovely picture sitting there, all he wanted was to push her down on the bed and … He ran a hand over his face, trying to banish those images. He was having a hard enough time deciding what to say without completely overloading his brain that way. "So," he began, finally. "All this time we've spent together—you know, the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us …" He took a deep breath. "Will you miss it, once it's over?"

Una laughed, leaning back on her arms. "It makes me tear up just thinking about it."

Alistair laughed with her. "There'll be no more running for our lives. No more darkspawn." Then his face turned serious. He took a deep breath, then walked across the room, looking out the window. He couldn't look at her for this part, or he'd never be able to say it. "I know it might … sound strange, considering we haven't known each other for very long. But I've come to … care for you. A great deal."

Una's breath caught in her throat. All thoughts of anything happening outside this room had been wiped away. She stood up, trembling.

When she didn't say anything, he went on. "I think it's because we've gone through so much together. I don't know." His head dropped, and he continued, so softly she could barely hear him. "Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe I'm fooling myself." He felt her standing behind him and turned to face her. His eyes met hers. Barely able to breathe, he took the final plunge. "Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever … feel the same way about me?"

Intoxicated by his nearness, by the sweet, hopeful expression in his eyes, Una wasn't sure she'd be able to speak. Finally she said, tremulously, "I think I already do."

He smiled, murmuring something that neither of them paid attention to. Their eyes held each other's as he took a step toward her, one hand, shaking a little, reaching out to cup the side of her face under the curtain of her honey-gold hair. She leaned into his caress, her eyes closing. His hand slid down to cup her jaw, gently pulling her closer, and then their lips met. Una gave a strangled gasp at the sheer sweetness of it. His kiss was hesitant at first. Then her hand curved around his neck, fingers stroking at the back of it.

Alistair groaned as the sensation overpowered him. His arm swept around her waist, pulling her up against him, and his tongue slid between her parted lips to find hers, hesitantly at first but with increasing boldness as she clung to him. They kissed for endless heady minutes, reveling in the feel of each other. At last he lifted his head, breathing heavily, and said the first thing that came into his mind. "That— That wasn't too soon, was it?"

Una's head was swimming. She held onto his shoulders to keep from falling, and tried to get her breathing back to normal. Which was difficult to do, as his hands were still moving restlessly over her back. "I don't know," she said at last. She saw his eyes shadow, and realized that he still wasn't entirely sure of himself. She pressed closer, feeling a tremor move through his body, and grinned at him. "I need more testing to be sure."

He grinned back. "I'll have to arrange that, won't I?"

"Please," she murmured, as his mouth covered hers again. All hesitancy had passed, and they kissed hungrily.

Finally they broke apart, both of them gasping for breath. Her eyes were wide and soft and had gone a vibrant shade of green. Alistair gazed at her in wonder. "Maker's breath, you're beautiful," he breathed. "I am a lucky man."

She blushed, looking away. No one had ever called her that before. Or looked at her that way.

"Now," he said, clearing his throat, "let's get back to … what we were up to before. Lest I forget why we're here."

Slowly they stepped away from each other, rearranging clothing, smoothing hair, and generally trying to look presentable. They weren't able to do much about their shining eyes or wide grins, though.

They joined the rest of the group, helping to get all the gear and supplies ready for the next journey. Finally, when the last bag was packed, they assembled in the great hall for dinner, sitting around the big table. Una filled them all in on the quest for the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

Morrigan was the first to speak. "So," she began sharply. "Where is it to be? Shall we head into the lion's den of Denerim, hunting for this … Brother Genitivi? Or do we turn our steps toward the halls of Orzammar, to win the dwarves' support?"

Una took a deep breath. "I think we need to help the Arl," she said, studiously not looking at Alistair. "We need his support against Teyrn Loghain if we're to be able to fight the Blight properly, and we need his troops, which cannot be pledged to us in his illness." She looked around the group, seeing various shades of agreement. At the very least, there was no actual argument forthcoming, not even from Morrigan. "On the way to Denerim, I think we can afford to take a day off and go to Soldier's Peak. We may learn something about the Grey Wardens, could pick up something—either knowledge or equipment—that can help us against the Blight, and if Soldier's Peak can be won back as a base for the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, so much the better." Again, no out-and-out disagreement. Una felt pretty good about that, actually—she was the youngest and arguably least experienced person in the room, but they accepted her leadership and trusted her reasoning. It might be a strange group of castoffs, but Una felt them all behind her like a brick wall. She felt the need to say so. Standing up, she took a deep breath, looking around at all of them.

Morrigan inclined her head when Una looked at her. Grenli leaned his furry body against Una's leg. "I just want to say how much it means to have you with me." Leliana smiled at her, and Wynne was nodding slowly, her expression serene. "With all of you behind me, I feel we could take on an army. In fact, we have, and we will again," she said, smiling ruefully. Zevran winked at her as her gaze rested on him. Finally, she looked at Alistair, whose eyes were warm on hers. "Thank you, all of you, for being willing to give up your own lives and pledge your immediate future to this cause and to me. I will never forget it." She considered adding something about the debt she owed them, but then her eye caught Morrigan's again, and she thought better of it. It seemed foolish to make blank promises that might come back later to haunt her.

"Now," she said. "Let's all try and get a decent night's sleep—in real beds for once," she added to cheers. "And then move out fresh and rested tomorrow."

* * *

_A/N: If I was going to rewrite this, I would definitely have brought up the Urn of Sacred Ashes before this chapter. That's what I get for skimming through Lothering and the first trip to Redcliffe.  
_


	15. Lampposts

_Thanks for reading, everyone! I'm glad to be getting into the romance-happy phase now - these two make me smile._

* * *

As everyone else scattered to their own rooms for the night, Una walked with Grenli to the kennels, her hand resting lightly on the top of the dog's head. He grinned happily as she saw him bedded down for the night. "Be ready for a long march tomorrow," she warned. He gave two short barks. "Yeah, we'll just see if you can march circles around me," she said affectionately. She handed him a bone and left the kennels, heading for her own bedroom.

Her thoughts were filled, not with the affairs of Ferelden, but with Alistair, the feel and scent and taste of him. So she wasn't surprised when he emerged from a doorway and fell into step beside her.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said.

"What were you doing, lurking there?"

"Lurking? I wasn't lurking," he said. "I was just … uh …" His mind was filled with her nearness, and he had to touch her. Reaching out, he stroked down her arm, taking her hand. "Una," he said, his voice raw.

Her mouth went dry and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. Spying an open door, she tugged him into the room, which turned out to be the library. The candles were sputtering low in their sconces, sending intriguing shadows through the room. Shutting the door behind them, he sank down into a big wing chair and pulled her onto his lap. Una gave a sigh of pure happiness, snuggling deeper into his arms. She'd been waiting for this for so long, it seemed. It was hard to believe she was finally here.

They stayed that way for a few moments. Then Alistair whispered, "Hey."

"Mm?"

"I wanted to say thank you."

She sat up, looking at him. "For what?"

"For what you did—saving Connor and Lady Isolde. You didn't have to."

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the memory of her nephew and sister-in-law. "Yes, I did."

"Not everyone would have thought so. I just— There's been so much death and suffering, it feels good to have been able to save something."

"I agree." After a few moments, she said reluctantly, "I should really be going—"

"I know." But neither of them moved. Alistair reached out, tucking her hair back behind her ear. His hand trailed slowly down her neck and over her back. He wondered what it would feel like to stroke her bare skin. He heard a moan, but whether it was hers or his, he didn't know. Then she was kissing him, and it didn't matter.

How long they stayed there, kissing, they didn't know. Neither of them tried to take it any further—it was still too new. Una didn't want to push things, and Alistair wasn't ready to go beyond this. Not yet. Slowly they became aware that the last candle had guttered out and they were in pitch darkness.

"I think that means we should be getting some sleep," she whispered against his ear, loving the shiver that went through him.

"Who needs sleep?" he growled, his arms tightening around her, pulling her closer. "Grey Wardens don't sleep that much, you know."

"We do if we want to be on our way bright and early," she said, chuckling affectionately. "Come on." She stood up. He made a small protesting sound, and Una grasped his hand, pulling him up with her. And then she kissed him again.

This time he was the one to break the kiss. "My leader's going to be very angry with me in the morning if I'm not well rested," he whispered.

"She must be a big meanie," she muttered back. "Who could be angry with you?"

They made it a few steps closer to the door this time.

At last they reached the door. "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "I'm actually going this time." She pulled the door open. "Pleasant dreams, Alistair."

"Oh, they will be," he said, echoing her words of the other night, and the promise in his voice nearly made her turn around and go back for more. "Trust me."

The next day's march was uneventful. They made camp at the edge of Lake Calenhad, frying some fish that Zev had caught. After dinner, Leliana and Una sat together. Leliana regarded her sturdy leather boots with a wistful sigh. "How I miss nice shoes," she sighed. "Orlais is very fashionable—almost ridiculously so. But the shoes! Living with those ridiculous trends was worth it for the shoes."

"Oh, I love shoes!" Una exclaimed with unusual girlishness. Leliana began to describe a pair she had been eyeing before she left Val Royeaux, Una hanging on to every word.

Alistair, coming back from the lakeside with a pile of clean dishes, caught Zevran's eye. "Shoes?" he asked.

"Ah, our mysterious Grey Warden has a girlish side," Zevran lilted, looking intrigued. "It is so rare to see beneath the warrior to the woman. And what a woman it is," he breathed.

Alistair wanted to feed the elf his own teeth. But still—it was something he hadn't given much thought to. More than a warrior and a Grey Warden and a woman of incredible softness whose kisses drove him out of his head, she was a noblewoman. And despite her protestations of how awkward she had been considered to be, she must have had friends and loved pretty things and lived an entire life Alistair simply could not fathom. He began repacking the plates, wondering if he had any right to have feelings for someone whose whole life had been lived so far above anything he knew.

He was so abstracted, taking so much extra time with his task, that he didn't notice when things began to get quiet. Until a familiar hand stroked the back of his neck. Heat flooded the pit of his stomach.

"Those are some well-packed plates," she said, sitting down next to him.

"Any job worth doing," he said.

"I thought maybe we could take a walk," she said. "Er, check the perimeter?"

"It's not watch time quite yet, is it?"

"No, but it, um, never hurts to be too careful, does it?" She cleared her throat. Only then did he catch her meaning. Turning to look at her, he saw that she looked hesitant. Like she wasn't sure what his reaction would be.

Perhaps it was wrong of him, but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't be near her and not touch her. Standing, he took her hand as if to help her up. "I think that makes a lot of sense," he said, grinning at her. They walked slowly, side by side, around the open edge of the camp, trying not to hurry toward the comparative privacy of the trees.

From the camp, several pairs of eyes watched them speculatively. Only the mabari was completely sure what was going on. He heartily approved of Alistair and was glad to see his mistress so happy. The others had their suspicions. It had been hard from the beginning to miss the easy camaraderie between the two Grey Wardens, and the way each of them relaxed when the other was around. No one else was as wholeheartedly in support as the mabari, however.

"So, um, shoes?" Alistair said, after casting desperately about for something to say. He was already breathing heavily, just thinking about holding her.

Una laughed, but even in his distraction he heard the undercurrent in it. "Can you imagine? If I tried to put on something like Leliana was describing, I'd fall down within my first two steps. And look ridiculous in the process."

"But you sounded so enthusiastic," he said, genuinely confused.

"Oh, I was. I am," she said. "I love to look at those kinds of shoes, and I'd love to be able to wear them. But they look stupid on my big feet, and I can't walk in them, and I tower over everyone like a gawky giraffe even more than I do naturally." She tried to speak lightly, but there was bitterness there. "I don't know," she went on after a moment. "I just wish … I could be more like Leliana. You know, a good fighter but feminine, too."

They were entering a little copse of trees as she said it, and Alistair reached out, wrapping an arm around her waist. He pushed her up against one of the trees, feeling her softness and her curves pressed against him. She gasped. He lifted her chin with the fingertips of his other hand. "You," he said, his voice gravelly, "are extremely feminine. Trust me. And I like you just the way you are."

"Really?" she whispered in wonder.

"Really," he murmured in assent just before his mouth captured hers.

Una moaned. Her hands curved around the back of his head, threading through his hair, and her hips shifted restlessly under the pressure of his body against hers.

He brushed her hair back, his mouth leaving hers to trail down the side of her neck. The little sounds she was making in the back of her throat just fanned the flames rising in him.

"Alistair," she whispered.

"Hmm?" One hand wandered slowly down her side.

"Can I … ask you something?"

"Mmhmm." His mouth continued exploring the soft skin of her neck, nipping lightly.

"If you were … raised in the Chantry, have you never …?" Her hands explored his back, feeling the heat and the play of the muscles beneath his shirt.

"Never …? Never what?" he murmured teasingly into her ear, nibbling her earlobe. "Never had a good pair of shoes?" He chuckled.

Una had to laugh, too. "You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do," he said, his voice throaty. "Have I never seen a basilisk? Eaten jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?" He transferred his attentions to the other side of her neck while his fingers traced a pattern on the outside of her thigh.

"Now you're making fun of me," she said breathlessly, arching her neck to give him better access.

"Make fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought," he murmured. He straightened, looking at her with one eyebrow raised. "Tell me. Have _you_ ever licked a lamppost in winter?" He rolled the words off his tongue enticingly, flooding her brain with thoughts of what that would feel like against her skin.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Yes," she admitted, blushing slightly. "I've licked a lamppost in winter."

"Just the once?" he said, grinning. "And you didn't lose half of your tongue in the process? I'm impressed." He shifted away from her, and she felt suddenly cold without his warmth. "I myself never had the pleasure," he went on more seriously. "Not that I haven't thought about it, of course … but, you know."

"You've never had the opportunity?" she supplied.

"Living in the Chantry is not exactly a life for rambunctious boys. They taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself. That's not so bad, is it?" He looked into her eyes, and she could tell he was actually a little worried.

"Not at all," she murmured, smiling at him. Then what he'd said sunk in, and she asked, a little wistfully, "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Of course you are, and you know it," he said, mock-frowning at her. "You're ravishing and resourceful and all those other things you'd probably hurt me for not saying."

Serious now, she put her hands on either side of his head, looking into his eyes. "I would never hurt you, Alistair," she said.

"Nor I you," he said. He leaned his forehead against hers, and they stood there together for a long time.

Eventually, she had to begin her shift on guard. Letting go of her reluctantly, Alistair went back to his tent, still aglow. As he rolled himself up in his blankets, he couldn't help remembering the taste of her skin, the little sounds she made. He wondered what she felt like, what she looked like, underneath her clothes. But he didn't know if that was allowed. How far could he go? When would she stop him? So far she seemed more than okay with everything he'd tried … was he not going far enough? He tossed and turned, wishing there was some way to know what the rules were.

One thing he was sure of. Someday, when the Blight was over, he wanted to take her somewhere romantic, maybe Val Royeaux, or somewhere in Nevarra, and make love to her. When there was time for it to be perfect.

He fell asleep trying to imagine what it would be like.

* * *

_A/N: The transitions in this story continue to bother me as I reread it; I try to smooth them down as I look it over, but I'm still not happy with them. Transitions are always tricky, but I do like to think I've gotten better at them over time! _


	16. Cailan

_Thanks for reading, everyone! _

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The next day, they were cutting through the forest on their way through the Bannorn when they saw a nobleman being held at sword-point by several guards of some kind. Una signaled for the group to attack, but the guards stabbed the man in the belly before the team got in place. Wynne wasn't able to heal him, but he rallied long enough to explain to them that he'd been at King Cailan's side at Ostagar, had survived the battle, and had been held in a Bann's prison ever since. Before he perished, he told them the location of the key to the royal chest, which he believed was still on the battlefield, long abandoned to the darkspawn. When the nobleman gave his final shudder, Una stood up. Her eyes met Alistair's, seeing the anger and sorrow flash in his eyes. Wynne's eyes shone with a martial light, as well.

"We'll go," Una swore to the two veterans. "Now. And we will kill whatever is there to be killed."

Immediately, the group reversed direction, heading directly south toward Ostagar. Alistair was distracted, thinking about Duncan and the rest of the Grey Wardens, and quite probably about his half-brother, also. Una stayed near him, but didn't try to draw him out. He needed the space. She would have liked to be able to offer him comfort, but he didn't seem to be looking for any. She had the feeling nothing would be right for him until he got the chance to attack the darkspawn that were infesting the battlefield.

Una was distracted herself, hoping against hope to find some trace of Fergus, but hoping just as fervently to find no sign of him. She hadn't given up on the idea of finding her brother alive somewhere, although as time passed her optimism was fading.

It was late evening when they reached the vicinity of Ostagar. They made camp a fair way from the battlefield—with two Grey Wardens in the party, Una was nervous enough about attracting darkspawn attention without camping right in the midst of the horde. She doubled up the guards for the night, and made everyone share a tent. Except, as always, Morrigan. Wynne and Leliana shared amicably enough, and Una took Grenli in her tent, but she had to fix Alistair with her best "leader look" to get him to agree to share a tent with the elf. If she'd thought the proximity to both the battlefield and the darkspawn were going to allow Alistair to get any sleep at all, she'd have worried more about his attitude, but as it was, she didn't think sharing a tent with Zev would make much difference.

The next morning, a tense group of individuals met around the breakfast fire. Una decided to take Wynne, Alistair, and Leliana to the battlefield, and she asked Morrigan and Zev to keep the mabari in sight, in case he was able to sniff out any sign of Fergus.

As they hiked to the battlefield, there was unusual silence. Usually the four of them worked well together, but today the camaraderie was absent.

They arrived in the midst of the ruins. Una remembered looking up at them the first day, thinking of what a magnificent sight it must have been in its heyday. She was staring at the Tower of Ishal, thinking of how the darkspawn had flooded out onto the roof that last night, when she felt a strong hand at her wrist.

Turning, she found Alistair looking at her with an intense expression in his dark eyes. Una cocked her head. "What's on your mind?" she asked.

Wynne and Leliana had gone ahead a little bit, and were rummaging in a pile of rubble near the wall.

"Do you know where this is?" Alistair asked.

Una looked around. The snow covering everything made it hard to get her bearings, and she shook her head, wondering where this was going.

"I was standing right here the first time I saw you," he said.

"Oh." It was a mere breath. She recognized the spot now. And how could she forget that moment?

He shifted his grip so that he was holding her hand. "This is very hard," he said. "Being here, I mean."

"I know."

"That was the worst day of my life."

"I know that, too." She waited, not rushing him.

"But it also brought me you. And you … are the best thing that's ever happened to me."

She smiled at him, her free hand stroking the side of his face. "Same here, you know."

Alistair searched her face, looking for the joke, but there was none. Armor and all, he put his arms around her, leaning his head against her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her caring steal through him.

Holding him, Una wanted to say more, to make promises, to tell him she loved him, but something in her held the words back, whispering that it wasn't time yet. So she just held him until he was ready to let go and face what was to come.

After a few moments, he took a deep breath and she let him go. "Okay now?" she asked. Alistair nodded.

Una called for Wynne and Leliana, and they continued moving through what had been the camp, fighting the various darkspawn that kept popping up. One of them, some kind of darkspawn leader, had a piece of Cailan's armor. Alistair shuddered, looking at the gunk covering what had been a bright piece of armor. "It just seems wrong," he said angrily. "This was _his_."

Wynne reached out, taking him by the shoulder. "There is worse to come, Alistair," she said. "We must be prepared for it."

His jaw tightened. "I just wish I could have been there."

Una started to say something, then thought better of it and let Wynne speak instead. The mage had a special affection for Alistair, and their relationship clearly meant a lot to him, too. "The world is better because you weren't there. And I'm far from being the only one who thinks so."

Alistair seemed to accept that, if not to believe it. They continued through the camp. Una was struck by a wave of sadness when she saw the table that had been used in the Council of War tipped over onto its side, its edges splintered and cracked. This had been the last place she had seen King Cailan. She remembered his enthusiasm, his thirst for glory, his hero worship of the Grey Wardens. Alistair looked a fair amount like his half-brother, she thought, and the sense of humor appeared to be genetic as well, but there the resemblance stopped. Alistair had a much more realistic attitude toward warfare, and young as he was, seemed the more mature of the two. Cailan had been like a big puppy gamboling about on the battlefield. Alistair was more like a mabari, Una thought, although she wondered if either Alistair or Grenli would appreciate the comparison. Still, she thought with a sigh, Cailan hadn't deserved to die like that, abandoned on the battlefield by a general he trusted. She clenched her fists, hoping there would be the chance to repay Loghain for that black day.

They walked out onto the platform where the Joining ritual had been held. Alistair stood there, staring off into the distance, lost in thought. It seemed hard to believe that his only thoughts then had been how many of the recruits would survive. Maybe the fact that they'd lost two of three in the ritual should have been some kind of warning? he thought unhappily. His reverie was broken by Una's voice, calling his name. He turned to look at her. She was digging at a pile of snow, and as he watched, she stood up with the Joining chalice in her hands.

"I can't believe this survived," she said, staring at it. A shiver ran through her at the memory, and she turned to Alistair. "I think you should have this," she said. "For safekeeping, until we can rebuild after this Blight is over."

"No, you should hold onto it," he said. "You're the head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden."

Una studied him for a moment, tilting her head to the side. "That may be," she said finally. "But you're the heart." He was surprised to hear both Wynne and Leliana murmur in agreement with her. She handed him the chalice, leaving him to process the idea. He'd never thought of it that way before, and he found it both comforting and intriguing.

They found the key and the royal chest. Then they went farther into the camp proper and found the remains of Duncan's fire. The darkspawn had destroyed almost every vestige of it.

Alistair stared at the remnants, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "His power must have taunted them," he said. "They must have felt the darkspawn blood on his hands. I'm glad." His face was stark and cold and vengeful. Everyone else stood with him in silence until he turned, ready to move on.

As they crossed the bridge toward the Tower of Ishal, Una moved ahead of the others. Wynne and Alistair were having one of their half-teasing half-affectionate conversations, and Leliana had dropped back to pick the lock on a chest. As a result, Una was alone when she neared the middle of the bridge. There was some … thing placed there. Una squinted at it, then her face blanched in horror.

It was the body of King Cailan. Displayed naked on some kind of frame. Una bit her lip to keep from crying out, and shot a stricken glance back at Alistair. With all her being, she wished she could protect him from this sight—but he would have to see. As he and Wynne drew closer, he looked up at Una. Whatever he was about to say was stilled on his lips when he saw her face, white and distressed.

"What is it?" he asked in concern, speeding up. And then he saw it. He didn't know whether to scream or cry or hit something.

"Let's … We have to get him down from there," Una said, fighting back her tears.

Alistair's brain stilled suddenly. All the overload from the sorrows and horrors of the battlefield cleared and he felt renewed purpose course through him. "No." Una looked at him, startled, and he went on. "If we take him down now, they'll see, and we'll be overwhelmed before we can care for him properly." He faced the still figure. "We will return, my King, when we have cleared this battlefield of the taint that overpowered you. And we will see you to the Maker as you deserve." He took Una's arm and led her away from the body. "Let's show these darkspawn that they can't mock the things we hold dear and expect to survive."

"Hear, hear," Wynne said quietly. The three of them followed him the rest of the way across the bridge and toward the Tower.

Alistair and Una both had trouble entering the Tower, remembering the last time they were there, the confidence they'd felt, battling their way through darkspawn to the top, then lighting the beacon, only to be overrun. But now they were chasing some kind of genlock wizard who was wearing the last piece of Cailan's armor. They couldn't stop now, so they moved forward, their weapons attacking their own ghosts as surely as they did the bodies of the darkspawn.

At last, they emerged from a tunnel below the Tower onto the battlefield. The genlock wizard gave Alistair exactly what he'd wanted—the genlock resurrected the ogre who had killed both Cailan and Duncan. Una caught Alistair's eye and nodded at him, and he looked as darkly enthusiastic as ever his brother had as he dashed forward to the attack. The four of them took down the ogre and the wizard, recovering Duncan's blades from the ogre's body. Alistair held the sword and dagger in his hands, staring at them as though some final word of Duncan's might be left in them.

At last, Una reminded him that darkness would be falling before too long, and they had to take care of Cailan before they left the field. Returning to himself with some difficulty, he stowed the blades reverently in his pack, and then together they went back to the Tower bridge. They took down the body of the King, placing it upon a pyre. They stood, lost in their own thoughts, watching the dead King's body until it was swallowed up by the flames.

Una and Alistair, standing on opposite sides of the pyre, had the same question run through their heads. With all the death and desolation facing the nation, how could two people find happiness with each other? Was that a mockery of all the pain and suffering, or a celebration of all that the people they'd lost had stood for?

Una, always a believer in love and in the future, thought the latter. Alistair, used to feeling that his happiness was unimportant at best, leaned toward the former. He was unable to meet her eyes, and he stuck close to Wynne's side on the way back to camp. Una had a fair idea of what was going on in his mind, but wasn't sure how to get him to come around.

* * *

_A/N: I'm pretty happy with this chapter, all things considered. I notice I keep having to go through and remove the word "quietly" from all the dialogue. That and an overuse of ellipses really marked the first draft of this story.  
_


	17. Grimoire

_Thanks for reading, all of you! _

* * *

In camp, Una's first look was for Grenli. She met his doggy eyes hopefully, but he whimpered, his ears drooping. "Nothing, bud?" she asked. He shook his head. She reached down and ruffled his ears. "Look on the bright side, boy," she said. "If you couldn't find any sign of him, maybe that means he's still alive."

"Your brother?" Alistair asked. She turned around, not having noticed him coming up behind her.

"Yes. I had Grenli out sniffing around for a sign of him."

Alistair looked at her for a moment. "I forget, sometimes, that I'm not the only one who lost something out there."

"I know." The words were expressionless, containing neither forgiveness or condemnation.

They fell into step together, walking away from the camp. Grenli watched them go, his brow furrowed.

"Do you ever think," Alistair began, "maybe … it's not right?"

"What isn't right?" She knew perfectly well what he meant, but she was not going to let him get away without saying it out loud.

"To feel … you know."

She stopped walking, looking him in the eye. "Out with it. Don't beat around the bush."

He looked away. "So many people are dead. So much suffering, so much misery. Is it right to be—to care about each other, when there's so much else going on?"

Una sighed. "You want the practical answer, or what I feel in my heart?"

"Start with the practical," he said. He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against a tree, staring off through the woods.

"Practically, then, we're on this quest together. And I don't know about you, but having started … what we've started, I'd have a heck of a time not continuing it." She smiled, but got no reaction. Ah, he was far gone, then, she thought. "Not convincing?" His shoulders hunched.

Una was determined not to let this happen. She walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. He stiffened, but didn't move away. "Okay, then. The reason from my heart. Do you remember what I said, the day I told you what had happened to my family?" No answer. "I said that we have a responsibility to the people we've lost—that if we give up under the weight of our grief, then they will all have died for nothing. How do you think my parents would feel if I turned my back on happiness, just because they're dead? They'd be ashamed of me. I'd never get my mother to stop screaming in my head," she said, chuckling a little. Alistair made a sound that might have been a laugh. Una took that as a good sign. "I can't live like that, Alistair. I can't turn my back on life just because I'm surrounded by death. Quite the opposite, in fact. I celebrate the people I loved by moving forward. With hope for a better future. Both personally and for Ferelden." When there was still no response, she started to let him go.

Alistair caught her hands in his before she could slide away. Bringing one of her hands up to his mouth, he kissed her fingertips. "You never give up, do you? Everything you're asked to do, everything you've had to endure, you square your shoulders and move forward, doing the impossible through the sheer force of your determination not to back down." He sighed. "I wish I were more like you."

She held him tighter. "You are. And I'm not. I look back all the time, wondering if I have the strength to take the next step. And you know what I see?" He shook his head. "You, my shield, holding me up. If you weren't behind me, I'd fall more often than I'd like to admit. One way or another, no matter what we do personally … you and I are partners. I can't do this without you." Then she grinned, nuzzling the side of his neck, enjoying his quick intake of breath. "And I have to say, it'll be a lot more fun this way."

His hands were warm on hers, gripping her fingers tightly. But he didn't say anything.

"So," Una said, her lips moving softly over his skin, "are we okay now?" She licked the back of his neck delicately with the tip of her tongue, feeling the shudder that went through him.

He turned in the circle of her arms, one hand brushing her hair back from her face. "You're quite good at getting people to see things your way, aren't you?"

She laughed. "I don't like to lose. Especially not something as important as this."

Alistair hugged her tightly. "My heart knows you're right," he said. "But my head is still overwhelmed by everything we saw today. Can we give it some time to catch up?"

Una stepped back from him. "Of course. You know where to find me." He smiled at her in gratitude as she turned to walk back to the camp, praying to the Maker that she was doing the right thing.

She didn't have long to focus on her worry, though. As she paced the perimeter of the camp, Morrigan stepped from the trees, clutching the grimoire. "May we speak?"

"Sure."

"I have been studying Mother's grimoire," Morrigan said, falling into step with Una.

"Interesting?"

"Highly. It is not what I expected, however." At Una's questioningly raised eyebrow, Morrigan went on, "I had hoped this would be a compilation of Flemeth's spells. Instead, it is something quite different altogether."

"You look disturbed."

"An excellent choice of word. You see, this book contains the secret to Flemeth's immortality."

"Let me guess," Una said. "She eats babies."

"If only it were that innocuous!" Morrigan exclaimed. "But no. As it turns out, Flemeth has had many daughters. As her body ages, she takes over the body of her daughter. Just like stepping into a new dress." She shivered.

Una immediately grasped the implications. "If that's the case, why would she risk sending you with me?"

Morrigan shrugged. "I know not. Perhaps she was telling the truth—that the Blight threatens her as much as it threatens everyone else. The book also says that it is easier for her to take on the new body if the host is fully trained in magic. Perhaps this little trip is meant to expand my skills quickly."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"What else is there to do? If I am to survive, Flemeth will have to be killed."

Una stopped walking, staring at Morrigan. "Kill Flemeth? Kill the Witch of the Wilds?"

"It is the only choice." Morrigan, looking more visibly uncomfortable than Una had ever seen her, turned her eyes away under Una's scrutiny. "I am afraid I am going to have to ask for your help."

"Me? Why my help?"

"Because if I am near when Flemeth dies, her spirit will simply take over my body. It must be done when I am not present." Morrigan swallowed, looking up at Una. "Will you do it?"

Una looked at the beseeching face of the mage, then away into the trees. At last she sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Morrigan said, as usual uncomfortable with the words. "Also, I will need Mother's true grimoire, which you should be able to find in her hut when it is … done."

"All right." Una turned wearily away from the mage, who had the good sense not to follow.

She paced back and forth, her brain busy, not even noticing the passing of time until the voice spoke from the darkness. "You were supposed to wake me when it was my turn on watch."

"I'm sorry," Una said distractedly. "I didn't even realize it was time for that."

"Here I thought you were mad at me." Alistair looked at her bashfully.

"Hm? Oh. No, not mad. I was … I need to talk to you."

"Er, when I said I needed time I meant more than a few hours."

"Yes. Got it. This is something else." Una looked over toward Morrigan's fire. The mage was rolled in her blankets, appearing to be asleep. But it was hard to tell with her. Sighing, Una decided she just had to chance it. "I had an interesting conversation with Morrigan earlier."

Alistair bristled at the very name. "I'll take your word for it."

Una let that one go. "Morrigan has been studying Flemeth's grimoire. The black book from the Tower?" she reminded Alistair when he gave her a blank look. He nodded. Una leaned back against a tree, speaking as quietly as she could. You never knew exactly where Morrigan might be lurking, even if she seemed peacefully asleep. "Apparently, there's only one thing of great interest in it."

"I don't buy that for a moment. I don't see why you gave her that thing in the first place." Alistair leaned back also, and Una tried not to pay attention to his shoulder brushing hers.

"Your objection has been noted," Una said wearily. "The point being … Morrigan claims that the most interesting thing in the black grimoire is an explanation of how Flemeth prolongs her life."

"She eats babies?"

Una poked him in the side with her elbow. "That's what I said!" She grinned at him, then sobered. "But apparently not. It seems that when Flemeth's body ages, she takes over the body of one of her many daughters. A highly trained mage daughter," Una added when Alistair didn't get the point immediately.

"Ohhh," Alistair said. "I can see why Morrigan would be upset."

"Exactly. So guess what she wants us to do."

"Kill Flemeth before she can gobble up another daughter?"

"Yup. That appears to be the plan."

"Have we agreed to this?" Alistair crossed his arms, looking disapproving.

"We've said we'll see what we can do."

"Why?"

Una sighed, banging her forehead against his shoulder. She'd just been thinking how nice it was that she could trust Alistair enough to talk strategy with him, and what a relief it was to know him so well that she could predict his reactions. But of course, she had forgotten his absolute hatred for Morrigan.

"Ow!" he said. "Will you stop that?"

"You make my head hurt."

"What can I say? I have firmly muscled shoulders." He looked smug.

"I'll say you do," she murmured suggestively, making him blush.

"Okay, your earlier point is well taken," he said, quirking an eyebrow at her. "You know, the one about it being difficult to … not do what we were doing before?"

Una pushed herself away from the tree. "Oh, no, you don't," she said. "You're not getting out of this conversation by being all cute and Alistair-like."

He grinned at her. "Exactly how do I go about being not 'Alistair-like'?"

"Work on it. Or think faster." Una looked back over at Morrigan's fire. The mage rolled over in her sleep. "Anyway, I think it's worth considering what Morrigan wants us to do."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't we owe Flemeth our lives? Shouldn't we, I don't know, display some loyalty?"

"I thought of that, too. On the other hand, Morrigan is part of our team." Alistair muttered something, but Una ignored him. "Perhaps we owe her something as well. You know, like the chance to not be sucked out of her own body to make room for a centuries-old abomination?"

"Actually, that sounds like fun. I'll bring the popcorn."

"Alistair, can you be serious for a minute?"

"I was."

Una sighed, rubbing her temples. "I should be having this conversation with Grenli. It would go better."

"You didn't really expect that I would trust anything Morrigan has to say, did you?"

"I had kind of hoped all this time when she's fought at our sides would have entitled her to a certain amount of consideration, yes," Una said severely. "At any rate, I think we need to at least investigate the situation. We'll take a team tomorrow. I'm thinking you, Gren, and Zev." At his questioning look, she shrugged. "All three of you have a certain moral … casualness that is not exactly shared by Leliana or Wynne. And obviously, we can't take Morrigan, no matter what we decide."

"I have a moral casualness?"

"When it comes to Morrigan, you do."

"You've got me there."

Una sighed. "So we go, we keep our options open, we allow Flemeth to make her case. Or we kill her."

"You say that very lightly. People have tried to kill the Witch of the Wilds before, you know."

"People have tried to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes before, too." Una shrugged.

"All right, good point, six impossible things before breakfast. But why tomorrow?"

"Because we're right here in the Wilds, and once we get out of here, I don't want to have to come back."

"Well, then," Alistair said, straightening up. "Clearly some of us need to get a good night's sleep, and others of us need to get to our patrol. Pleasant dreams, Una."

"They will be. Trust me," she purred.

"That is not fair."

* * *

_A/N: I go back and forth between thinking if I had it to write all over again I would go AU and bring back Fergus earlier and thinking that would keep Una from maturing, if she had her big brother to look up to for advice and answers. _


	18. Elders

_Many thanks to all of you for reading! _

* * *

And so the next morning, they went. Making their way through the Korcari Wilds, they came to the little hut that haunted Alistair's nightmares. Flemeth was waiting for them, looking as though she hadn't moved since they left.

"So," she said. "Lovely Morrigan has finally found someone willing to dance to her tune. What pictures has she painted for you?"

Una stood her ground, looking at the older woman calmly. "I am here to talk. For the moment."

"Will you play your own tune, then?" Flemeth asked.

"I want to know the truth."

"Do you? Do you really? The lie can be so much more fun." When Una looked at her severely, Flemeth just laughed. "But it is an old, old tale. Even Flemeth has told it, a time or two."

"How does it end this time?" Una asked.

"Perhaps like this: Morrigan wants my grimoire? Take it. Tell her I am slain."

"And you?"

"Disappear. Perhaps I visit Morrigan again … perhaps I merely watch. It would be interesting indeed to see what she does with her freedom."

"What do I get out of this?"

"You get to keep her." Flemeth's voice hardened. "And make no mistake—the time will come when you will want her." She looked at Alistair, then back at Una, and a small smile glimmered in her eyes. "Even he will … want her."

Alistair's lip curled. "Do you want to explain that remark?" he asked.

Flemeth laughed. "Now where would be the fun in that?" But the laughter didn't reach her eyes. "Do we have an agreement?"

Una studied the older woman, weighing the options carefully. Something told her that doing battle with Flemeth was a far more daunting task than it seemed, and there was still a Blight left to fight. "We do."

"Excellent. The grimoire is in the chest in my hut." Flemeth waited while they went into the hut and got the grimoire and then came back out. "Best of luck on your way, Wardens. I can guarantee that we will not meet again."

Una crossed her arm over her chest, bowing slightly. Flemeth inclined her head. Then Una's team headed back through the Wilds, toward camp. "Zev," Una shot over her shoulder.

"My lady?"

"You're aware that as far as Morrigan is concerned, Flemeth is dead?"

"Ah. Of course."

"I would be willing to believe it won't be the first time you've reported someone dead who is actually living."

She could hear the grin in Zev's voice. "The beautiful Warden presumes a tender heart which may or may not exist."

"But you will do it?" Una asked impatiently.

"Flemeth is dead, of course," he said in mock innocence. "What other choice would there have been?"

They paused to mess up their armor, cutting some scratches on themselves and generally trying to make it look like they'd been in a battle. Where were the darkspawn when you needed them? Una thought in annoyance. She was glad she had suggested that the other three women pack up the camp and start ahead, letting the rest of the team catch up. It would take longer to reach them and hopefully offer more chances at battle before they met up with Morrigan.

Right around midafternoon they caught up with the others, just outside of what had once been Lothering. There had been two or three small groups of darkspawn to fight on the way, so they looked even more bloodied and embattled than Una had hoped. As they came up to the three women, a group of darkspawn stepped out of the woods. The whole group entered battle. It was hard-fought, and by the time they took the last one out, they were all exhausted. They looted the bodies and started out of the area. Everyone was moving slowly.

Suddenly, Wynne crumpled to the ground. Una ran back, helping the mage up. Wynne put a hand up to her head.

"Oh, my," she said. "For a moment there, I thought it was all … over."

"What was all over?" Una asked, concern sharpening her voice.

"Everything." Wynne put a hand out, touching Una's arm. "I will explain later, when we are back in camp."

"Are you all right?"

"Later," Wynne said, gently but firmly.

Una gave the older woman a sharp look, but accepted that she wasn't going to get anything more out of her for the moment. They moved on with the others, looking for a relatively safe place to camp.

Once camp had been set up, Una removed Flemeth's grimoire from her pack, walking toward Morrigan's fire. The mage looked up as Una approached, a searching look that contained both surprise and pleasure on her face. "Is it done then?"

Una held up the book wordlessly. Morrigan took it carefully into her arms. "Mother's true grimoire! The secrets that must be contained within …" she murmured, opening the book and leafing through a few pages. She seemed to have forgotten Una's presence. When she did remember it, Morrigan slammed the book shut, looking at Una suspiciously. "I will study this carefully. Perhaps it holds secrets that will be useful against the Archdemon," Morrigan said.

"Let me know if you find anything," Una said.

Morrigan nodded dismissively, glaring at Una as she hunched protectively over the book. Then, as Una was walking away, she heard the mage call to her. "Una?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For this." She held up the book. "I will not forget that you have done this for me. You are … most generous with your assistance."

"You're welcome," Una said, resuming her steps and praying to the Maker that she didn't come to rue the events of this day.

Returning to the fire, Una accepted the plate of stew Leliana handed to her. At Alistair's questioning look, she shrugged. Then she sank down in the open space next to Zev, watching her companions as they ate. Grenli was gnawing happily at a bone. Dear Grenli, Una thought with a sigh. Thank the Maker for that dog—at least she had one completely uncomplicated traveling companion who never asked her to do impossible tasks. Morrigan, at her own fire, was deeply engrossed in the grimoire, a thought that didn't entirely make Una comfortable. But at least the mage was happy, she thought. Zev seemed focused entirely on his dinner, making small jokes and gallant comments. Most of these were aimed at Leliana, Una noted with interest. Occasionally he'd toss innuendos at Una, but that seemed more to annoy Alistair—which they did quite nicely, she thought with satisfaction—than out of any great attraction toward Una.

Leliana seemed unusually distracted. She dropped her plate twice, to Grenli's great appreciation, and kept trying to catch Una's eye. Then, when she did, she'd fidget and look away. Una wondered what was on her friend's mind. She suspected she'd find out sooner or later … hopefully before Grenli ate all Leliana's stew. Smiling to herself, she glanced over at Alistair. He wasn't eating, but rather staring at her, and the naked hunger she saw on his face before he looked away sent butterflies through Una's stomach. Her hands started trembling, and she dropped her own plate.

Grenli dashed over to her side. Zev, next to her, quirked up the side of his mouth in a smirk. "I would love to know what the dog has done to deserve you lovely ladies continually dropping your food at his feet."

"Unconditional love, Zev," Una said, retrieving her plate—although sadly not her dinner—from the ground. The elf made a snorting sound, but looked somewhat uncomfortable. Una felt she may have scored a hit there—hopefully one that would allow Zev to move forward toward Leliana. Una liked the idea of the two of them together.

As she stood up, she met Wynne's eyes. The mage looked more tired than any of them, but Una caught the speculation in her face as she looked from Alistair to Una with something akin to a frown. Una frowned also, thinking that it looked like she was in for some kind of lecture. Great. As if Alistair himself wasn't enough challenge.

Leliana had disappeared off into the trees, and Una decided to follow her. But only a few steps outside the circle of light cast by the campfire, Wynne caught up to her.

"Una."

"Yes, Wynne?" Una winced, waiting for what she was sure wasn't going to be a fun conversation.

Wynne measured her words carefully, then said, "You seem quite taken with each other."

"You know about Alistair and me?" Of course she knew. All of them knew. How could they not? But Una didn't want to leave too big an opening. Maybe there would be less lecturing if she was a bit cagy.

"It would be difficult to miss the doe-eyed looks he's always giving you when he thinks no one is watching." Wynne snorted. "It's almost too sweet for me, and I'm an old lady who should be making fuzzy slippers and little blankets with a heart motif."

Una had to smile at the image. "You're not a typical old lady."

Wynne smiled, as well. "No, I'm not going to be knitting you scarves with little pom-poms. But I did want to ask where you see your relationship going."

"We're just taking it one day at a time."

"I wonder if you have quite thought through the ramifications. You are both Grey Wardens, and he is the son of a king. You have responsibilities that exceed your feelings for each other."

"I can handle my responsibilities and my relationships," Una said, crossing her arms and straightening to her full height as she looked down at the mage. She knew she sounded prickly, but honestly!

"Alistair is a fine young man, skilled in battle," Wynne said with an almost maternal pride, "but inexperienced in the ways of love. I would not want to see him hurt."

"You think I would hurt Alistair?"

"You know you are quite likely to have to choose between saving your love and saving everyone else. Do you want to have to make that choice?" When Una didn't reply, Wynne sighed and went on. "Love is ultimately selfish, requiring one to put a single person above everything."

Una put her hands up to her temples. She should have known conversations like these would be coming, but she did wish she and Alistair could have gotten a bit farther along in their relationship—like being sure they had one—before she had to start justifying it. "You talk," she said at last, "as though I'm the only one who loves Alistair. You're not the only one who has seen people looking at each other, you know. I know who gets healed first in battle, who gets the heroic auras. He's the grandchild you will never have." Wynne had the grace to look somewhat abashed. "And he returns your affection. Far more whole-heartedly than he is ready to return mine," Una said, a trace of bitterness coloring her voice.

"Hm. I suppose that makes sense—there is more danger in yours." Una shot her a look, but Wynne held up her hand. "There is more future, more decisions, more … commitment between the two of you. More uncertainty. He does not have to wonder about my regard."

"True," Una said. She sighed. "Wynne, I don't know what the future holds. But if I were still Lady Cousland and he were a random Grey Warden who had come to the castle I would feel the same way toward him, and I still wouldn't know what the future would hold."

"You truly think you would feel the same?"

"Wynne, I've been in love with him since the first day I met him. Before Ostagar, before I knew he was Maric's son, before … any of this. I hadn't known him for an hour before I knew he was the man I'd always wanted." Una shrugged. "I don't even know for sure if I believe in destiny, but I think Alistair and I are meant for each other. And I think trying to be on this quest and not be together would be more distracting and more dangerous for the task at hand than admitting our feelings could be."

Wynne studied the girl in front of her. "You are very decisive," she said. "And very sure of yourself."

"I have to be. Look at all the people depending on my decisions! Not just all of you, but all of Ferelden. Fortunately, I've always been very good at knowing my own mind. My mother used to despair of me entirely—once I made up my mind, there was little changing me." She looked at the ground, biting her lip. "I hope I've done some work on that last part in recent months." Meeting Wynne's eyes, she continued, "That's where Alistair has been good for me—helping me see other sides of the issues, helping me be able to admit when I'm wrong. Sometimes." Una grinned. "In the long run, I think the benefits we both gain from being together will outweigh the pitfalls."

"I suppose nothing I can say will convince you to take a few steps back?"

"Trust me, this whole thing is moving about as slowly as it can go," Una said. "I will keep your comments in mind, but I can't promise to stop feeling what I feel."

"Fair enough," said Wynne. "Are you returning to camp?"

Una shook her head. "I'm going to go looking for Leliana. She seemed upset this evening."

"I'll say good-night, then."

"Good-night, Wynne."


	19. Conversation

_Thanks for reading, all!_

* * *

Una watched Wynne head back toward the campsite, then turned in the direction Leliana had gone. This would be a great night for a darkspawn attack, she thought, with half the group out wandering the forest.

After some searching, she came upon Leliana, sitting on a fallen tree. The bard looked up as Una approached her. "I had hoped you would find me."

"You had something on your mind at dinner. Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

Leliana took a deep breath. "I lied to you," she said. "About why I came to Ferelden."

"If I remember right," Una said, "you didn't actually tell me why you came to Ferelden. So you can't have lied." She smiled at her friend.

"That is a charitable way of looking at it," Leliana said in relief.

Una sat down next to the bard. "Let's start with this, then. 'Leliana, how did you first come to Ferelden?'"

Now Leliana looked nervous again. "I … was being hunted."

"Hunted? Were you in some kind of trouble?"

"Let me start from the beginning." Leliana looked up at the sky, searching for the right words. "In Orlais, I was a bard. A spy. My bardmaster was a woman named Marjolaine. She was my friend, she had trained me, and I loved her." Una's eyebrow quirked, but she said nothing. "One day, I was sent by Marjolaine to kill a man. It was a simple task. When it was done, I took some papers off his body." Leliana paused.

"I take it these were important papers?"

"It turned out that they were. They were treasonous. I opened them up, and when I saw what they were, I grew concerned. I went back to Marjolaine to tell her that I was worried for her, that she was involved in dangerous activities and she should be careful." The pain was obvious in Leliana's voice as she went on. "She told me not to worry, that it would all be taken care of. And I believed her!" A tear slid down Leliana's cheek, followed by another and then another. "Until they came for me."

"Who's they?" Una put her arm around her friend's shoulder.

"The Orlesian guards. They …" she gave a strangled sob, "tortured me. Horribly. I learned that Marjolaine had altered the papers and put my name on them. I felt so betrayed!" Leliana hid her face in Una's shoulder, crying. Una held her friend until her tears stopped. Leliana swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Fortunately, my bard skills came in handy in prison. I was able to escape, and I ran for my life, across the border and into Ferelden. Eventually I came to Lothering. I took shelter in the Chantry, and felt so comfortable there that I never wanted to leave. Until I had that dream, and I knew I must go with you."

Una squeezed Leliana's shoulders tightly. "And I am glad that you did. We'd all be starving without you," she teased. Then, looking intently into her friend's face, she said, "Thank you for trusting me with this."

"It feels good to be able to talk about this with you. You are a true friend," Leliana said. "Thank you."

"Will you be all right?"

"Yes. I am glad that there are no more secrets between us," Leliana said. Una stood up, resting her hand on Leliana's shoulder for a minute.

"It appears to be time for me to start my watch," Una said. "Will you be able to sleep?" Leliana nodded. "Good-night, then, my friend."

Una headed back toward camp, slowly, circling around the clearing with the campfires. She had made it about two-thirds of the way around the circle when she saw a shadow leaning against a tree trunk. "You should be more careful," she said sternly. "You almost got a giant maul to the head."

"Must you wield that thing? I'd just gotten used to the greatsword."

Una shrugged. She'd picked up the maul in Ostagar, and thought it would be a nice change of pace. "I like it. Who doesn't want to smash things with a giant hammer?"

"You know, that's one of the things I like about you," Alistair said. Had Una imagined it, or had he hesitated before choosing the word "like"? _Holy Maker_, she thought, imagining what it would be like if he actually said he loved her. After a pause he said, almost petulantly, "I didn't get my turn."

"Your turn?"

"With you. You know, how you go around to everyone and talk to them? I didn't get mine."

"You said you needed time." Una kept her voice as expressionless as possible.

"Yes, but I didn't mean for you to ignore me."

Definitely a bit petulant, she thought with a grin. She was sorry she couldn't see his face in the darkness. "It wasn't intentional. I had an unexpected lecture from Wynne and a long talk with Leliana that ran into my watch time. I thought you'd have gone to sleep."

"In that case, I suppose I'll forgive you."

"Generous of you."

"It is, isn't it?"

She sighed, leaning against the tree next to him. Someday, she thought, it would be nice to actually sit down and be able to talk to each other in a room. Like normal people. "Then here's your turn: Why did you wait so long before telling me about your parentage?"

"That was not the conversation I intended to have," he said, taken aback.

"Then next time you can start. You wanted me to, so there's your question. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"You … never asked?"

"Fine. Don't answer, then," she snapped, suddenly irritated with him. It had been a very long night after a long day, and she'd had enough verbal fencing. She pushed away from the tree and started to walk away.

"All right, all right, I'll tell you," Alistair said, a hint of desperation in his voice. She noticed that he didn't try to stop her physically, though. "I didn't tell you before the battle because … I was used to not telling anyone who didn't already know. Even Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew." He sighed. "Then after the battle, when I should have told you—it wasn't exactly the most important thing on my mind." The pain in his voice was as fresh as it had been that first day. She put a hand on his arm, murmuring something comforting. "And after that … I kind of liked you not knowing."

"Why? What would have changed?"

"People always change once they know." She could hear a lifetime of bitterness behind the words. "They begin to think of me differently. And I wanted you to like me for who I am. Not for my bloodline."

"Alistair!" she said. "I do like you for who you are. Have you noticed a change in me since you told me?"

"You didn't seem to … um, be interested in me before I told you. You didn't kiss me until after."

Oh, he had to be joking. "No," she corrected, "_you_ didn't kiss _me_ until after." She wished again that she could see his face in the darkness. She put both hands on his shoulders, looking at him intently. "There wasn't a lot of opportunity before that, you know. With the battle, and then you were all depressed, and … Let's get one thing completely straight. Since apparently you never noticed. I'd have kissed you in the Wilds, right in front of Daveth and Jory, if I'd thought I could have gotten away with it without you running away." She smiled. "For the love of Andraste, you complete idiot, I'd have kissed you right in front of that pompous mage the first time I met you. Before I knew you were anything other than some random Grey Warden."

"Really?" She could tell by his tone that the defenses were still up, though, so she waited for the inevitable remark. "Do you run around feeling the need to kiss people you've just met, then?"

"I wouldn't have kissed Jory, that's for sure," she said, grinning. "Daveth, though …" She let her voice trail off teasingly. When he didn't say anything, she said more seriously, "Alistair, your blood may complicate the future, but it's only one of many potential complications. And it doesn't change who you are. My friend, my partner, my shield."

And then his arms were around her, his face buried in her hair. Una held him for a long moment as he clung to her. As his grip began to ease, she whispered in his ear, "So how's the head doing? Any progress?"

He groaned, holding her tightly to him, his hands sliding down her back. "Not touching you has driven me completely out of my head," he whispered raggedly.

"Hm," she murmured against his neck. "Is that a good thing?" She slid her hands under his wool shirt, feeling the smooth skin over the ridges of his muscles.

She felt his breath catch. "Depends on your definition?"

"Does it mean I get more kisses?" She licked his ear, then bit lightly at his neck.

Alistair gave a strangled moan. He pulled her closer, and his mouth sought hers. All the hunger she'd seen on his face before was in his kiss, as his tongue plundered her mouth. She held on to him for dear life, afraid her legs wouldn't hold her up. Then he turned her around, pushing her up against the tree. His hands moved under her shirt, burning across the bare skin of her stomach. She tore her mouth away from his, gasping for breath.

His mouth explored the side of her neck, and his hands hesitantly up over her ribcage, coming to rest just at the bottom of her breastband, not quite touching her breasts. Una held her breath, but Alistair was utterly still, his breathing heavy against her neck.

"Don't stop. Please," she gasped.

He drew back, looking at her. "Are you sure?"

"Please," she said again. His eyes were heavy-lidded and he didn't look away as he moved his hands farther up, cupping her breasts through the breastband.

She moaned, leaning her head back against the tree. He kept his eyes on her, her reactions electrifying him as his exploring fingers slid under the fabric and found her nipples, teasing them to aching points. One of her legs wrapped around the back of his thigh as she pushed her hips forward against his hardness.

"Oh, Maker," Alistair gasped, feeling her warmth pressing against him, driving him wild. His mouth found hers again, desperate with his rising need, as his pelvis ground against hers.

Somewhere not far from them, a twig snapped. Both of them froze, dimly through the haze of passion surrounding them aware of the camp, the darkspawn, the Blight. Slowly they drew apart.

"I, um, think it's my watch," he said after a moment, his breathing still labored.

"I guess I'll … go to sleep then," she said, just as breathlessly. "If I can."

She could still feel the throbbing in the pit of her stomach as she went slowly back to her tent. If he didn't decide he was ready to move forward soon, she reflected, he wouldn't be the only one going out of his head.

Alistair went on his watch a bit unsteadily. It took every ounce of discipline he could muster to keep from following her back into camp, slipping into her tent, and finishing what they'd started. His mouth went dry at the very idea, but … a tent? For their first time together? He wanted it to be special, perfect. Roses, maybe, at the very least sheets and a real bed. But there was no longer any question of waiting for the end of the Blight. He came undone too easily at her touch—and vice versa, amazingly. He still wasn't sure what she saw in him. Not that he was complaining, exactly, but he did feel conflicted, part of him waiting for—expecting—all this to end as magically as it had begun, part of him worrying that it was wrong to be this happy in the midst of so much misery.


	20. Marjolaine

_Thanks for reading, everyone!_

* * *

After a long, frustrated night for both Alistair and Una, the morning dawned cool and rainy. They were following the track of a small creek going north when suddenly they were ambushed from the trees, and found themselves in the midst of a fight. They battled their way through a few mercenaries, a wolf, and a mage of some kind. The last fighter was almost down when suddenly Leliana held up her hand. "Stop! Don't kill him!"

Una had her maul poised above her head, ready to smash down on the man. The effort of halting in mid-blow unbalanced her and she nearly fell over. "What?! Why?"

"These are no ordinary mercenaries," Leliana said, and for the first time Una could see the dangerous look of the spy and assassin in the eyes of her friend, the Chantry sister. "Their weapons and armor are of good quality." She looked at the fallen man. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Why are you here?"

The man got to his feet with some difficulty. "All I know is they told me to kill the little red-haired girl," he said, coughing.

"The little—" Leliana broke off. "Are you here to kill me?"

Una crossed her arms over her chest, standing to her full height, towering over the rather short assassin. Occasionally she really enjoyed her height—times like now, when the man cringed away from her. "Look, if I tell you what little I know …" He looked up wheedlingly.

"Your information for your life," Una said. "And be glad for it."

He handed her a piece of paper. "This is the address of the place in Denerim where I was supposed to go for my pay. It's all I know."

Una looked at Leliana. "I think we should just kill him."

"No," said her friend firmly. "He's told us what he knows." She looked at the assassin. "Never come near me again."

"I don't take kindly to people who try to kill my friends," Una said. "Next time, I won't stay my hand."

He bowed and nodded and then scuttled off into the forest as fast as his wounds would let him.

"Let's keep moving," Una signaled the others. She and Leliana fell into step at the back of the group. "What do you think?" she asked.

"It's Marjolaine. It has to be."

"But why now? Why would she suddenly come after you after leaving you alone for so long?"

"I don't know. When we're in Denerim, I'd like to go to this address and see what there is to see."

Una nodded. "We will. I won't have this hanging over your head if we can possibly put a stop to it."

Eventually they arrived in Denerim proper. It brought back a lot of memories for Una. The last time she'd been in the Market District she'd been with her father. She remembered the way he'd slung his arm over her shoulders as they strolled the stalls, skipping over all the fripperies and going straight to the armorers. "Your mother would be disappointed in us," he'd murmured. "I'm supposed to be encouraging you to be more feminine."

"Consider me encouraged," she'd grinned at him. "Do you see that chainmail?"

He had thrown back his head and laughed, and they had gone on to buy a whole new set of mail.

Una sniffed a bit. Wynne, who was walking closest to her, stopped and turned around. "Are you all right, my dear?"

"Just thinking about being here with my father," Una said. "I miss him."

"Of course." Wynne put a hand on Una's shoulder. "He would be very proud of you," she said softly.

"Thank you."

At that moment, a tall blond man in red steel armor called out to them. "You! You were at Ostagar … Duncan's apprentice." Una stopped and looked at him. She didn't remember him at all, but then, she probably wouldn't have. "You killed my friend. And good King Cailan," the man shouted. She moved closer as he said, "I demand satisfaction."

"Satisfaction?"

"Meet me in the alley behind the Gnawed Noble Tavern. We will settle this honorably, ser."

Una shook her head sadly. "This is wrong. We should be fighting the common enemy—the darkspawn. Not each other."

"Your order betrayed the king!"

Una caught Alistair's wrist as he was about to step forward on the attack. "Teyrn Loghain betrayed the king by quitting the battlefield when he had promised to attack. He left all those men to die."

"You add slander to your other crimes?" cried the soldier, appalled.

"Use your head, man," she said. "The Grey Wardens would never ally with the darkspawn. Our entire mission is to stamp them out! We were there to support the king, and all of our order except the two of us were slaughtered right along with him."

The soldier muttered to himself for a moment. "Your words are convincing. I will not fight someone who may have acted forthrightly. But if I find proof, Warden, you will hear from me again." He shook a fist at her and stomped off.

Una watched him unhappily. "It bothers me that there are so many good people out there who believe these lies. It divides the country and creates anger and hatred where there need be none."

"You're more charitable than I am," Alistair growled. "I wanted to punch him out."

"Save it for Loghain. He's the one at fault," she said. "Not these poor people who are still reeling from the tragedy, grasping at the first likely person to blame."

She kept moving, but Alistair and Wynne both stood still behind her for a moment, new respect dawning in their eyes. It was a much more measured view of the issues than they'd expected her to take, and they both felt suddenly proud to be following her.

Wynne looked at Alistair as they caught up to Una, noting the direction of his gaze. Her mouth quirked up in a teasing grin.

"Why are you smiling like that?" he asked. "You look suspiciously like the cat who swallowed the pigeon."

"Canary," Wynne said, smirking.

"What?"

"The cat who swallowed the canary."

"I once knew a very large cat," Alistair began. "But … not my point. My point is, why are you smirking?"

Wynne gave a very undignified giggle. "You were watching her. With great interest, I might add. In fact, I believe you were … enraptured."

"She's our leader," Alistair protested. "I look to her for guidance."

"Oh, I see. So what guidance did you find in those swaying hips? Hmm?"

"No. No no no." Alistair's cheeks burned. He had indeed been staring, watching the movements of her hips, thinking all sorts of thoughts that he did not want this nice grandmotherly woman knowing he was thinking. "I wasn't looking at, you know … her … hind-quarters."

"Certainly," Wynne purred.

"I gazed—glanced!—in that direction, maybe. But I wasn't staring. Or really … seeing anything. Even."

"Of course," she said, in a voice that dripped with honey.

Alistair looked the mage, seeing the twinkle in her eyes. Maker's blood, couldn't a man be confused and tormented and blown away by his feelings for a woman without having people feel the need to comment on it? Especially with such evident glee. "I hate you," he grumbled, looking to Wynne's affectionate eye like a tousle-haired boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "You're a bad person."

Una, ahead, heard Wynne's peals of laughter—a sound highly unusual for the mage—and noted Alistair's red cheeks. She wondered what was going on back there, but from the look on Alistair's face, she wasn't likely to find out.

Off at the edge of the Market District Una spotted a couple of soldiers in splintmail. One of them looked official, so she boldly went up to speak to him.

"Ah, Grey Warden," he said. "Sergeant Kylon, Denerim guards, at your service."

"How do you know I'm a Grey Warden?"

"There's a circular with your picture on it being handed out to all the soldiers in Denerim. It does you little justice, may I say." He smiled at her.

Alistair's jaw clenched. Every single man she met just _had_ to flirt with her. Especially the good-looking ones. And was she blushing?

Una inclined her head at the sergeant. "You don't seem like you're about to arrest me."

"Not all of us believe everything we hear," he said. "Also, if I were to try and arrest you, half the nobles' bastards I have for troops would run crying to their courtesans. And I don't relish trying to take you down myself, my lady."

"Is Denerim in such bad shape, then?" Una asked.

"Lots of crime, and I don't have the quality of troops necessary to handle it."

"Do you need any help?"

The sergeant looked surprised, then pleased. "If you're offering, yeah." Then he detailed his most pressing mission—clearing a bunch of riffraff out of a fancy whorehouse.

"I'm glad we don't have Zevran with us," Alistair muttered to Wynne. "We'd never get him out of there." The mage smothered a smile.

After agreeing to help Sergeant Kylon out, they turned their steps toward the home of the Andrastean scholar Arlessa Isolde had told them about. "Brother Genitivi," Una said, fishing the scrap of paper with the information on it out of her bag. She squinted at the address, then led the way toward it.

Inside the house, they were greeted by a young man with dark hair who introduced himself as Brother Genitivi's assistant, Weylon. This time Alistair had no need to worry about flirting, though. Weylon was just this side of hostile, clearly out to give them the shortest possible answers and get them out of there.

Eventually, Una pressed him hard enough to find out that Brother Genitivi had said he was going to an inn near Lake Calenhad. But then, when she pressed a bit further, he claimed to have found the location of the inn in Brother Genitivi's research. He was rattled now, contradicting himself all over the place, and eventually just attacked them all.

Of course, it didn't take the four of them long to defeat him. Searching the back room of the little house, they found the body of the real Weylon as well as a book of Brother Genitivi's research notes talking about a small village in the western mountains called Haven. Una sighed heavily, looking at the map in Brother Genitivi's book. "Oh, holy Maker," she said. "Can't anything ever be close?"

"We had to go that way to go to Orzammar anyway," Alistair said.

"I know, I know," she sighed. "It just seems like we go three extra miles for every step forward."

"We're going to need new boots," Alistair said.

"Boots? By the time we're done with all this, we're going to need new feet," she shot back at him. "All right, everyone, let's go." In the same pocket of her pack, Una found the other scrap of paper with the address of Leliana's assassin's contact in it. "Leliana, shall we go see about Marjolaine?"

Leliana took a deep breath. "No time like now, is there?"

Una held the paper up, glad she had some sense of the layout of Denerim's streets. Eventually, they came to the door of a little house in an alley. Una turned to look at her friend. "Are you ready?" Leliana, her eyes wide, nodded briefly. Putting her hand on the knob, she pushed the door in. Immediately, they found themselves in a battle with several mercenaries. Once those were dispatched, they went through the entry chamber into the back room, where a somewhat overdressed—and heavily overperfumed—dark-haired woman immediately began purring at Leliana.

"How nice to see you, my dear," she said.

"Marjolaine." Una could see the conflict in Leliana's eyes.

"My Leliana," Marjolaine cooed. "How I have missed you."

"So much that you sent assassins after her?" Una put in. "What a charming calling card."

Marjolaine's eyes raked Una up and down, then, dismissing her, snapped back to Leliana. "But of course after our misunderstanding, how was I to know Leliana would so quickly come to see me?"

"You're lying, Marjolaine. What do you want?"

The other woman's face hardened. "I say to myself, where has my Leliana gone? Then I find out she is in the Chantry," she spat, making it sound like a curse word. "Dressing in those dowdy gowns, hair all ragged and messy like a boy's—this is not my Leliana. So I wait. And then you leave, and I know it is time, that you are coming for me."

"Leliana is helping to fight the Blight," Una said, staring down at the woman.

Marjolaine laughed the kind of tinkly little laugh that had always made Una feel like a gangly ostrich. "And you believe that? My Leliana is an accomplished story-teller. She would tell you anything you wanted to hear."

Una's eyes flicked to her friend. Leliana's face was white—with anger, with fear that Una might believe Marjolaine's accusations? It was hard to tell. She looked back at Marjolaine. "Leliana is my friend. She fights at my side and the fate of Ferelden rests on her shoulders along with those of the rest of us." Behind her, she heard assenting noises from Alistair and Wynne, and Leliana's soft exhalation of relief.

"The more fool you, then," Marjolaine snarled, leaping at Una with her claws out. She proved a surprisingly tough fighter, and came with several henchmen who were also quite formidable. It was some time before Marjolaine lay dead at their feet. Leliana, looking down at her former friend, suddenly swayed. Una caught her. "Are you all right?"

Still staring at the dead bard, Leliana whispered, "I have … much to think about. Can we talk later?"

"Of course." Una started to turn toward the door, but Leliana caught her arm.

"I just wanted to say thank you. For believing in me."

"You're my friend," Una said, squeezing the other woman's had. "The best woman friend I've ever had. And we've been through too much together for me to doubt your commitment to our cause." Leliana's eyes filled with tears and she bit her lip. Una patted her on the shoulder. "Will you be all right to finish our tasks here in Denerim?"

Leliana nodded. "Can we take a short break?"

Una thought of another highly emotional side trip they needed to make. "Yes, certainly." She called to Wynne, asking the mage to take Leliana somewhere that she could refresh herself and regain her composure.


	21. Goldanna

_Thank you to everyone following this story! _

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"What are we going to be doing?" Alistair asked.

"You're going to go meet your sister," she said. When he blanched, looking terrified and excited at the same time, she added, "I don't have to come with you, if it will make you uncomfortable."

"No no no," he said in his fast nervous voice, clutching at her hand. "I … really don't know what to expect or how this will go. I'd like to have you there, if you don't mind."

"Of course," she said. But she was anxious for him, knowing from his Fade dream how high his hopes were. They were almost certain to be dashed, she thought, at least a little. "Off we go then. You know where she lives?"

He nodded, leading the way through the market district to a small tumble-down house. Outside they paused, and Una could see his hands shaking. "Are we sure we have time for this?" he asked. "We could go, come back … later, maybe. When there's time." Una looked sternly at him, motioning to the door. They went in, Alistair's hands nervously fidgeting with his hair. He called out nervously, "Err … Hello?"

A small red-headed woman came forward, naming her price on linens for washing. Una thought longingly about the bundle of laundry waiting for her in camp, but decided this was hardly the time.

"I'm not here to have any wash done. My name's Alistair," he began. Una felt for him—she had never seen him quite this young and vulnerable and ill at ease. "I'm … well, this may sound sort of strange, but— Are you Goldanna? If so, I suppose, I'm your brother."

"My what?" The woman looked at him in surprise, as if wondering what the joke was. "I am Goldanna, yes. How do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?"

"Are you sure your information is correct?" Una murmured to Alistair.

"Yes, I— I think so. Definitely," he said. Turning back to Goldanna, he went on, "Look, our mother, she worked as a servant in Redcliffe Castle a long time ago before she died." Then, as if it just struck him that she might not, he asked, "Do you know about that? She-"

For a moment, Goldanna looked stricken. Una thought she could see old wounds, barely healed, being reopened. Then anger took the place of the pain. "You!" exclaimed Goldanna. "I knew it! They told me you was dead. They told me the babe was dead along with Mother, but I knew they was lying."

"They told you I was dead?" Alistair asked. "Who? Who told you that?"

"Thems at the castle. I told them the babe was the King's, and they said he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth, and sent me on my way," she added, her eyes glinting. Una, watching closely, thought to herself that this might well go worse than they had expected. If Goldanna had taken a bribe to keep quiet once, she might expect that to be the purpose of this visit, also. "I knew it!" Goldanna finished, the bitterness fairly radiating off of her.

"I'm sorry," Alistair said. In the kindness of his heart, Una could tell he had missed the implications in his sister's speech. "I didn't know that. The babe didn't die. I'm him. I'm … your brother," he finished, his voice softening. Knowing what this meant to him, it hurt Una's heart to see that what he valued as more than gold was meaningless to the woman standing across from him.

Goldanna snorted. "For all the good it does me. You killed Mother, you did," she hissed, and Una could see the pain again under the anger. "And I've had to scrape by all this time. That coin didn't last long, and when I went back, they ran me off!"

Making an effort to try and put them on the same page—for she could see the legitimacy of Goldanna's loss and the hardship of her life since—Una spoke up. "That's hardly Alistair's fault, though, is it?"

Goldanna's eyes settled on Una for the first time, and she sneered. "And who in the Maker's name are you? Some tart, following after his riches, I expect?" Riches? Una thought. Clearly Goldanna had been stewing a long time if she thought a bastard son, even a bastard son of a king, was some kind of lord. It had been known to happen occasionally, but most often bastards were shipped off to the Free Marches or somewhere.

Alistair broke in, his voice petulantly, childishly angry to cover the vast hurt. "Hey, don't speak to her that way! She's my friend, and a Grey Warden, just like me!"

"Oh, I see," Goldanna mocked. "A prince and a Grey Warden, too. Well, who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me?" She swallowed hard. "I don't know you, boy. Your royal father forced himself on my mother, and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? Nothing!" It was clear to Una that they had come years too late—any softness that might have been there was burnt away by years of brooding. "They tricked me good," Goldanna hissed at Alistair. "I should have told everyone! I got five mouths to feed, and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you."

"I— I'm sorry, I … don't know what to say," Alistair said slowly.

Una put a hand on Alistair's arm, and he started as though being awakened from a nightmare. "It looks like all she wants is your money," Una said.

"Yes, it really seems that way, doesn't it? I wasn't expecting my sister to be so—" He broke off, searching for the right word. "I'm starting to wonder why I came."

"I don't know why you came, either," Goldanna said less harshly. "Or what you expected to find. But it isn't here. Now, get out of my house. The both of you."

Her hand still on his arm, Una said gently, "Let's leave. Now."

"I agree," he said, and she heard the anger starting. "Let's get out of here."

As she followed him through the door, Una felt sorry for both of them. Alistair had done a fair amount of brooding himself, and it left him with a blind spot to the idea that other people had the same pains as he did. Goldanna seemed to have suffered, mentally and materially, from the loss of her mother. But it still didn't mean that when a man came to you with his heart in his hands, offering you family and loyalty and caring, you should spit on it, Una thought.

She waited, holding her breath, to see what he would say.

"Well," he said slowly, shaking his head as if to clear it, "that was not what I expected. To put it lightly. This is the family I've been wondering about all my life? That shrew is my sister? I can't believe it!" Una could see the emotions churning on his face, the grief, the disappointment, the anger, the embarrassment that Una had witnessed that debacle, in addition to having seen the depths of his dreams for this meeting when she found him in the Fade. "I— I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question," he said, and Una glimpsed the little boy, lonely and unloved, dreaming of the sister who would take him home and make it all better. "Isn't that what family is supposed to do? I feel like a complete idiot."

Una took him by the arms, looking into his face. "You don't need her," she said. "You have others who care about you."

His eyes didn't even seem to see her, though. "Duncan was the only one who ever cared for me," he said sadly. "And he's—"

Restraining herself, with difficulty, from shaking him and shouting out "I love you, you great idiot!", she said, "I care about you." Very gently, but very firmly.

He blinked, seeming to focus on her. "I— Thank you." His eyes clouded over again, and he looked away. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Let's just … go."

Una nodded, falling into step just behind him, letting him have his space.

They caught up to Wynne and Leliana, and started through Denerim's back alleys, clearing out some of the riffraff there for a Chanter's board request. Una found a moment to give Wynne a whispered rundown of the events at Goldanna's house. The mage, herself a bit partisan on the issue, wanted to go back and put some kind of hex on Goldanna's washing, but Una talked her out of it. Alistair and Leliana were both noticeably withdrawn, but as the day, and the battles, went on began to act a bit more like themselves.

Alistair knew he was recovering when he found himself staring at Una's trim thighs again, as she loped ahead of him like an awkward gazelle. He thought how much he loved the way she walked, the way she wielded that ridiculous hammer she'd bought from the dwarven armorer in the market district, the way she was always there for all of them. How much he loved the way she became unsure of herself in social situations, the way he could always make her laugh, the way her long fingers clung to him when they were kissing. How much he loved—her. Loved her.

In the middle of an alley, he stopped short, feeling as though he'd been hit in the chest with her hammer. He was in love with her. 'Wanting to spend the rest of his life hearing her laugh' in love with her. 'Wanting never to go into battle—or anywhere else, for that matter—without her by his side' in love with her. For Andraste's sake, 'wanting her babies' in love with her! How had he never seen that before? All thoughts of the ugly scene with Goldanna were immediately shelved for another time. What had just happened to him was infinitely more important—and more pleasurable—to contemplate.

As they moved through the alleyways, Una spied an old poster, nearly hidden, that in carefully couched language asked for any supporters of the Grey Wardens to come to the Pearl—the same whorehouse Sergeant Kylon had asked them to check out. "What do you think?" she asked.

"Smells like a set-up," Alistair said. "There are only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden, anyway, and who else would be looking for us?"

"Loghain and Howe," Una said grimly. "Between your heritage, my heritage, and what we both know of their crimes, there are no two people in all of Thedas those men want dead more than us."

"It's a good point," Wynne said. "I, for one, will be quite glad to see the last of Denerim. The mouth of the lion doesn't seem the safest place to be working."

"No," Una agreed. "Let's get these last tasks done and head out of here."

As they were exiting the market district on their way to the docks, where the Pearl was located, a small messenger boy came running up with a note for Una. He was gone before she could question him. Scanning the note, she said, "It's an invitation to meet someone in the Gnawed Noble if I'm looking for work." Looking around at them all, she shrugged. "We can use work, certainly, and even more than that, I'd like to know who's interested in hiring me. Whether it's a potential ally or a potential enemy, it's better to have them out in the open."

"General Cairados again?" Alistair asked.

"No. That one's all Cousland," she grinned at him. They headed back to the Gnawed Noble, where they found a somewhat shifty Antivan they'd spoken to in the market. Una nodded at the man. "So, you're a Crow, then?"

"Now, that is a very direct question," he said, sounding very like Zevran. Una wondered if they knew she'd spared Zev, and if they meant to come after the elf. "On the whole, I do not like direct questions. But in this case, you can assume … yes."

"You're murderers."

"Dear lady," he scoffed, "do you blame the sword for its deeds, or the swordsman? We Crows are merely finely crafted swords, and we cut where we are paid to cut."

"You mistake me greatly if you think I'm an assassin," Una said sternly, deciding it probably wasn't worth angering the Crows further by killing the man.

He nodded, looking sad. "I thought as much. But it was worth the effort."

Una very much wanted to ask him questions, but she suspected she either wouldn't get any answers, or wouldn't like the ones she got. So she let him go, and they left the market district.

Entering the Pearl, they made quick work of Sergeant Kylon's task. Una marched right up to the ruffians and talked them into leaving. Alistair shook his head, wondering how she did that. One minute, you had a very firm idea in your head, then she looked at you with those tilted golden cat's eyes, and the next minute you were agreeing with her. And he'd seen it happen often enough to know that it wasn't just him, although it did seem to work somewhat better on men than on women.

The proprietress, a woman named Sanga, came forward, fairly purring at Una now that the mercenaries had gone. "What can I offer you?" she asked. Una, thinking she meant drinks, started to say something, but then Sanga went on, her eyes twinkling. "The men? The women? Some of both?"

Una blushed to the roots of her hair. She absolutely could not look at any of her teammates. "Not right now, thanks," she managed to stammer. But she did remember to ask which room the supposed Grey Warden supporters had. Still blushing, she led the rest of the group back to that room, knocking firmly. When a voice called out, she used the words of the poster, "The griffons will fly."

As they had suspected, the 'supporters' turned out to be mercenaries, in the direct employ of Arl Howe. Una itched to go after him, but she knew it wasn't yet time. Duty, Blight, army, civil war, all stood in her way. But the reckoning would come, she thought viciously, swinging her hammer and caving in the ribcage of one of the mercenaries. Oh, yes, it would come.

At the proprietor's request, they did a full search of the rest of the house, making sure they'd cleared out all the ruffians and the mercenaries. Alistair, filled with his new revelation, was aching to talk about it with her, to tell her. He'd nearly shouted it out in the midst of battle, for the Fade's sake! Finally, he caught her hand when they were in one of the empty bedrooms. Taking his gloves off, and hers, he sat down on the bed, holding her hands gently in his, looking up at her.

"What's on your mind, Alistair?" Una couldn't tell what was coming. His face was inscrutable. She could see fear there, but also something like elation.

"I just … wanted to thank you for taking me to see my sister," he said. "And for talking me down afterwards."

"Of course!" she said. "I was glad to."

"You are a true friend." He took a deep breath, holding her hands a little tighter, then went on. "And I … love you."

Her eyes widened, her lips parted with the little gasp that escaped her. "What did you say?" she asked breathlessly.

"You didn't hear me?"

"Oh, I heard you, but I might have been hallucinating. Can you say it again, please?"

He searched her face, unsure how serious she was, but he saw the glimmer of a smile. Armor and all, he yanked her down, lying back on the bed with her on top of him. Their faces just inches apart, he said it again. "I love you." It would have been nicer, he reflected, if their armor wasn't covered in fresh blood and bits of bone. Or if they weren't wearing armor. Or anything at all, come to think of it.

"Oh, Alistair," she breathed. "I love you, too."

"Really?"

She nodded, unable to say anything else. She was too overwhelmed that this moment had finally arrived, the one she'd been dreaming of so long. Okay, so her dream didn't involve a whore's bedroom, someone's brain matter in her hair, or having to go back about their duties when Wynne and Leliana came looking for them … but he'd said it, on his own, and he meant it, so what more could she ask for?

He shifted to his side, cradling her in his arm, and his lips touched hers oh, so gently. Their whole hearts were in that kiss, everything they'd been longing for and had found in each other. When the expected knock came on the door, Alistair swore. Una grinned. "The armor's a bit of a problem anyway," she said.

"Just wait till later," he growled.

Una felt his voice touch a chord deep within her, setting tension thrumming through her body. "Um, _much_ later?" she asked breathlessly. "Or a little later, or 'just as soon as possible' later? I don't mean to push … exactly … but, um …" She blushed.

"Definitely not much later," he said, his eyes darkening in a way that sent a rush of sparks through her belly. He wasn't sure he could go another night without at least trying to be with her—but he was completely sure he couldn't say so. And he didn't know what the rules were, he reflected, following her out of the room. She seemed to want what he wanted, but was he misreading the signals? Was it okay to do that once they'd said I love you? Were they committed to each other now? Did they have to wait to get married, Maker forbid? Not that he was opposed to marrying her—it sounded like quite a good idea, actually—but he didn't think it was right to make any official commitments until after the whole Blight thing was settled and they saw where they stood. She was a Teyrna, for Andraste's sake! Sure, Grey Wardens gave up their titles, but she was the last of the Couslands, after all. Did he even have any business being in love with her? Of course, it was too late now, and the difference in their statuses didn't seem to bother her. And after all, for the moment they were both fugitive Grey Wardens on the run from the Regent trying to put the country back together, so they were equal, weren't they?

He sighed as his spinning head began to ache. One thing was sure, though—the perfect place and time no longer seemed important.


	22. Tenting

_Thanks for reading, all! Since we were so close to this moment, I figured we might as well get right to it. Parts of this chapter are NSFW._

* * *

Back at their camp outside the city, with dinner finished, Una sought out Leliana. She wondered if Alistair would try to make a move tonight. Her heart gave a little leap in her chest when she remembered his eyes, soft and warm on hers, when he told her he loved her. Loved her! Oh, it didn't seem real—not yet.

Leliana was sitting on a tree stump a little way from the camp, staring off into space. She didn't turn when Una came up behind her. "My friend?" Una asked.

The bard started. "I'm sorry," she said. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

"No. I just wanted to tell you that I was here in case you wanted to talk."

"Ah. I see. Actually, yes," Leliana said. She bit her lip. "I'm just thinking about how I felt when I saw Marjolaine dead there in that little room. I— I liked it. I was glad."

"Of course you were. You're only human."

"But if I feel the way she would have felt, I become her. I see it happening. The things she did, the life she led … they made her what she was. Holy Maker," Leliana whispered in fervent prayer. "I don't want to be like her."

Una put her hand on her friend's shoulder, looking into her face. "You are not like her."

"We kill people all the time. And … and I enjoy it. The battles."

"Leliana." Una waited until the other woman's eyes focused on her face. "My father used to say this to me all the time: Evil doesn't worry about whether it's being good."

The bard looked at Una thoughtfully. "I hadn't thought of it that way before." She got up from the tree stump, giving Una an impulsive hug. "Thank you, my friend, for showing me a new way to look at things."

"You are very welcome," said Una, hugging back.

They walked back to camp together. Una had switched the shifts around, so Leliana had first watch. Morrigan was murmuring over her grimoire again, Wynne and Zevran seemed to be in bed, and Grenli was waiting by Una's tent flap, looking expectant. She didn't see Alistair anywhere. With a disappointed sigh she ducked into her tent … only to find him already there. Her lantern was lit, and he had apparently brought his as well, so the tent was brighter than usual. He was bending over, arranging her bedroll.

Una cleared her throat, and Alistair stood up hastily. "Ah, um, hello," he said.

"Are you lost?" she asked, trying to cover the hammering of her heart in her throat. Just in case he wasn't there for the reason she desperately wanted him to be there for.

"Um, I really don't know how to ask you this," he said, looking uncomfortable. Una raised an eyebrow at him. He went on, his arms flailing in the air as he reached for the words. "Oh, you'd think this would be easier to say … but every time I'm around you I feel like my head's going to explode, and I can't think straight!"

She started to smile, taking a step inside the tent. Behind her, she heard Grenli whumpf to the ground in front of the tent flaps with a funny little growl that might have been a giggle. "I feel the same way," she offered.

Alistair grinned at her, clearly recovering his equilibrium. "I hope you mean the head exploding thing in a good way," he said. He paused while Una tied the tent flap closed behind her. Both of them knew now where this was leading … but he needed to say the words. And she found she needed to hear them. So she stood, watching, waiting for him to go on. "Here's the thing," he said. "Being near you makes me _crazy_." A shaft of fire went through her at the rasp of his voice over the last word. She drew in a deep breath and licked her lips. Desperately, Alistair looked away before he forgot his carefully rehearsed speech. "But I don't want to be without you. Not … ever. I don't know how to say this another way." Now he looked back at her, to make sure her reaction was the one he hoped for. "I want to spend the night with you. Here. In your tent. It may be too soon, but I know what I feel."

The impulse to throw herself in his arms was nearly overpowering, but she needed to be certain he wasn't going to regret this in the morning. "You want to spend the night?" she whispered. "Are you sure?"

He spread his hands out in front of him in a helpless gesture. "I wanted to wait for the perfect time and the perfect place, but when will it be perfect? If things were, we would never have met. We sort of stumbled into each other, and even though this is the least perfect time, I still found myself falling for you, in between the fighting and everything." Her eyes were wide and soft, and he thought he could happily drown in them. "I really don't want to wait anymore. I've … never done this before. You know that. I want it to be with you. While we have the chance." He was breathing heavily, feeling like the air itself was a thousand fingers stroking him, but what if this wasn't what she wanted? What if this was too much, too soon?

He still looked shy, she marveled. Her entire body was on fire, and he still thought she might say no. In a swift step, she closed the distance between them, pressing her body against him, breathing in the spicy scent of the same cologne he'd worn that night long ago in Redcliffe, and her long fingers sought out the sensitive place at the back of his neck while she whispered in his ear, "I thought you'd never ask."

Alistair gasped in mingled arousal and relief. His arms swept around her, his hands cupping the round curves of her buttocks, pulling her against him, while her mouth explored his neck. He moaned, sliding his hands upward, under her shirt.

Una stepped back. She grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it off over her head, tossing it into a corner of the tent. Alistair's mouth dropped open as she reached behind her, unhooking her breastband. He murmured something under his breath as he reached out, hesitantly touching one small, round breast. Una arched her back, closing her eyes, as his touch became firmer. Then she felt his mouth close on her nipple. She threaded her hands through his hair, holding him to her, feeling the sparks all the way down to her toes. His hands slid down her sides, hooking in the waistband of her pants.

She held her breath, wanting him to keep going but not sure she could actually say so. Then he dropped to his knees, his mouth moving down, pressing kisses on her flat belly, as he slid her pants and smallclothes down in one motion. She stepped out of them, feeling his hands caressing the backs of her thighs.

"Alistair," she moaned. He looked up at her, his face flushed. "I'm going to fall over," she breathed. He shifted aside, taking the opportunity to remove his own shirt, as she lay down on the bedroll.

Looking at her, stretched out like that before him, he felt a sense of wonder well up in him underneath the surging fire. "You are more lovely than I could ever have imagined," he said. He slithered rather awkwardly out of his own pants and smallclothes, which had become most uncomfortable. Lying down next to her, he covered her mouth with his. As their bare skin connected for the first time, there was a throaty moan, but neither of them knew if it was hers or his. Alistair's hand moved slowly down, caressing her breasts and stomach, until it reached the triangle of hair between her legs. He paused, waiting for the signal, which came when she gave a quick moan, thrusting her hips up against his hand. Then he moved on, groaning as he felt her wetness against his fingers. He gently explored her, encouraged by her little cries.

Then she was sitting up, pulling at his shoulders. Her eyes were wide and glowing green and she reached out with her tongue to moisten her lips. "Please, Alistair," she said.

"Are you ready?" he whispered, in a voice so ragged he didn't recognize it as his own. She could only nod, whimpering, as his fingers continued their soft exploration of her most delicate parts. Una lay back, and he positioned himself over her. "Maker's blood," he hissed as he felt her hands on him, guiding him into place.

Una grasped his arms, feeling them quiver under the strain as he held himself up. And then he thrust forward, and she threw her head back, catching her lower lip in her teeth, as he slid easily inside her. She could feel every inch of him stroking her. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him on.

Not that he needed any urging. Alistair was utterly intoxicated by the feel and the taste and the smell of her all around him. They thrust together, their mouths meeting, tongues mimicking the actions of their bodies. The climax took them both by surprise as their excitement mounted and peaked in a fireball of sensation. Still joined, they lay panting together for a long moment before Alistair raised his head, looking down at her. She ran her hands through his hair, wet with his exertions. "I love you," he said. "In case that wasn't clear already."

"And I love you," she said, pulling his head down to hers and kissing him. She felt him harden inside her and thrust up against him. Before they knew it the fire had begun again.

Afterward, they lay together under the blankets in a tangle of arms and legs. Una tucked her head into his shoulder, sighing in contentment.

"Una?"

"Yes, my darling?"

"What do we do now?"

She sighed, not wanting to have to think practically just yet. She wished this night, the two of them lying here together, could go on forever. What was it her father had said, 'each moment a lifetime'? "I suppose we should get some sleep," she said at last. "You have second-to-last watch and I have last watch. Drat!" she said suddenly. "I should have switched that. Wynne won't be able to find you when it's your turn."

That wasn't entirely what he'd meant, so her words took a few moments to sink in. "Wait, you said you were changing the watch to keep us from getting complacent! Did you … I mean, were you hoping … You changed the watch for, um, this?" They'd extinguished the lanterns already, so he couldn't see her, but he could feel her nodding against his shoulder. He hugged her tighter as they laughed together. "You pretend to be so practical, and all the time you're all devious and wonderful." He kissed her again, meaning it to be a quick peck, but it turned long and lingering.

"Of course," she said when the kiss ended, "as Grey Wardens, we don't actually need all that much sleep …" Her voice trailed off suggestively. She slid one hand down his chest and over his stomach.

As her hand dipped lower, Alistair gasped. But he still wanted an answer to his original question, so he caught her hand, holding it in his before it could do any more mischief. She made a small protesting sound that almost melted his resolve. "Really, though," he whispered. "I'm not sure what the rules are."

Her mouth quirked up in the darkness. "By the Maker, Alistair—if you'd asked me this in Denerim, I could have picked up a copy of the rulebook in the Wonders of Thedas," she said, faking exasperation.

"There's an actual rulebook?"

"Of course. And if we had one I could turn to the section covering what to do when two Grey Wardens on the run from a usurper try to end a Blight and wind up falling for each other."

There was a silence. Then he muttered, "You are a very wicked woman. You're going to regret that."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, definitely."

"When?"

"When you're not expecting it. Now, can we be serious, please?"

"All right," Una said. "What was the question? Ow!" She rubbed her side where he had poked her.

"What are the rules?" he asked.

She stretched languidly, loving the feel of his arms around her. "Darling, I don't think there are any rules that cover our situation. We're going to have to make up our own. If what you're asking is what I want, then I'll tell you." She strained to see his face in the dark. What she longed to say was that she wanted to marry him and have his babies, but even now she felt the need to be cautious and not say too much. "I want to fall asleep in your arms every night and wake up in them every morning for the rest of my life." After a moment she added, "And I don't care who knows it."

"Ah," he said, warmth running through him. "So one tent, then?"

"Putting up a second tent seems like a lot of effort for something that won't get a lot of use, doesn't it?"

"You know our little group is already talking about us, right?"

She grinned at him in the darkness. "First smart comment and I'll feed them to the darkspawn."

He laughed at that. "See, this is why I love you."

"Are we good now?" She trailed her hands down his back and over his smoothly muscled buttocks, shifting under him so that he lay again between her spread legs.

"Let's see," he murmured, dipping his head to kiss the upper curve of her breast. "Fall asleep together every night, wake up together every morning. I think I can handle that. Although I may have some trouble with the actual sleeping part."

"The feeling's mutual," she gasped as his fingers slid between her legs. Sleep was the last thing on their minds for a long time.

A few short hours later, Wynne came back into camp from her watch hour. She stood outside Alistair's tent, calling his name quietly. Usually the young man was quick to respond when awakened. Due to the nightmares, he slept lightly, he'd explained once. But today there was no answer. Wynne was hesitant to stick her head into the tent—having spent a lifetime in the Tower, she wasn't overly modest, but she did believe in privacy. Still getting no answer, though, she was just about to peek inside when Grenli gave a small woof.

She looked over at the mabari. "What is it, dog?"

Grenli's tongue lolled out of his mouth, and he woofed again, turning his head to look at his mistress's tent. Wynne was still getting used to the dog's great intelligence and his communication style, so she didn't get it at first. "No, Grenli," she whispered, coming closer to the dog. "It's not Una's watch, it's Alistair's."

With a wide doggy grin, the mabari appeared to nod, then turned his head again, looking at the tent for a slightly longer pause. "Ohhhh," Wynne said, getting the point. "Alistair's in there, is he?" And why should she be surprised, she thought. This had been building for a while. She still thought it was foolish of them … but at the same time, they were both young people, out on their own for the first time, thrown together in intense circumstances. She remembered her own youth and a few of the follies thereof with a nostalgic smile.

"I'll be out in a moment, Wynne," came the somewhat testy voice of the young warrior. Wynne restrained a chuckle as she recognized the whispers and curses of a young man trying to find and put on his clothes in the dark after flinging them about willy-nilly. Oh, those were the days.

Alistair ducked through the tent flap. "Watch time, then," he said briskly, refusing to meet Wynne's eyes. "Anything to be aware of?"

She grinned at the no-nonsense tone. "No, nothing, Grey Warden, ser," she said. "Except that your shirt's on inside out." She headed off to her own tent with a chuckle, listening to the grumbles behind her.

* * *

_A/N: If memory serves, this is the first actual smut I ever wrote. I have tinkered with this bit more than any other part of the story, and I've never quite been happy with it. But since none of my tinkering actually made it any better, I'm not sure what I would have done differently if I had this to write over again. _


	23. Birthday

_Thanks to all of you for reading, and special thanks to those of you who take the time to review. I love to hear what you think!_

* * *

They journeyed on for a few days. Una decided not to go to Soldier's Peak for right now—it wasn't such a pressing task, and they wanted to see that Arl Eamon was healed as soon as possible. She knew Alistair worried about the older man quite a bit. They camped not far from the old Warden base, seeing the towers peeking out from above the trees.

It was no longer surprising to the rest of the group—if it had been to begin with—that the two Wardens were sharing a tent. The change in their relationship was in the very air around them, as the days had turned into one long bout of foreplay. The teasing, the touches, the caresses, the kisses … the two of them had become quite sickening to be around. Even the mabari had taken to avoiding them. Not that Una and Alistair noticed or cared, particularly. They enjoyed the extra time together.

Today had been a bit different, though, and Alistair wasn't sure why. Una had been not exactly prickly, but definitely standoffish. Not only from him, but from the whole party. He'd caught her staring off into space, looking sad, more than once, but when asked, she had said only, "It's nothing. I'm fine." Given the way she was clinging to the mabari, he thought it might have something to do with her family, but she wouldn't give him any answers. She called an early halt to the day's travel, and as soon as the tents were up, asked Alistair for some privacy and disappeared into theirs.

"Lovers' quarrel?" Zevran asked, his tone sugary sweet.

Too bewildered even to be irritated at the Antivan, Alistair shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Not that I'm aware of. She doesn't seem angry. Just sad."

"Ah," said the elf. "Angry women can be … amusing to deal with. Sad women? They are traps that a man can mire in and never get out of alive."

"I'll keep that in mind," Alistair muttered. Since he was no help standing around in camp wondering what was going on, he decided to go and collect firewood. Lots of firewood.

Inside the tent, Una sat with the vellum spread out in front of her.

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_How I miss you. The people I'm traveling with have become ever more important to me—some of them are like family, or more, now—but today they cannot make up for what I have lost. So much has happened to fill you in on. Father, Mother—I went back to the battlefield at Ostagar. I saw what the darkspawn had done to King Cailan's body, and we killed many of them for it. But neither Grenli nor I saw any trace of Fergus. I still have hope that he is alive somewhere, but where I do not know. No one I've spoken to has heard from him._

_We saved the boy, Connor! He lives, as does his mother. Now we are trying to save the Arl himself—but the only way this can be done is by hiking up into the mountains, following the work of an Andrastean scholar, to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes. If it's only a myth, the Arl is doomed. It's a lot to bear, the Blight and the Arl and all of it. But I am not alone. I have Wynne, the mage who joined us at the Tower. She reminds me of you, Mother—stern and strict, but it covers the great affection she bears us. Leliana, who has become my dear friend. Morrigan, who illustrates many of General Cairados's finer points about friends and enemies. Grenli, of course, my faithful friend and the one without whom I could not have gotten through this day. Zevran, the elven assassin, who says little and watches much and keeps his own counsel and I think is learning to like us, but slowly. And Alistair. Who loves me! So much has happened in that area—he gave me a rose in the Tower, kissed me in Redcliffe, told me he loved me in Denerim. And now we are together and it is everything I had hoped for. Everything I used to dream love would be while watching the two of you. What the future may hold, I dread to think. But we have today, and probably tomorrow, and beyond that I dare not speculate._

_I hope that you are proud of me. That as I become an adult and a woman I am not a disappointment to you. I love you and miss you every day and I just wish I could see you both again._

_Ever your_

_Pup_

She came out of the tent, looking around to check on everyone. Leliana was bent over a pot, slicing some kind of presumably edible vegetation. Wynne was mending a shirt-it looked like one of Zev's. Morrigan was nowhere to be found. Practicing shapechanging somewhere, Una speculated. Zev was throwing knives at a target he'd drawn on a tree. And Alistair was trying to train Grenli to fetch, and getting trained himself in the process, Una noted with great amusement. She walked quietly to the edge of the fire, holding the letter over the flames until it caught, and then letting it fall, watching the flames consume the page entirely. She sat on her heels, shutting out the thunk of Zev's knives, the little tune Leliana and Wynne were humming together, and the exasperated sounds of Alistair chasing the stick the mabari wouldn't deign to touch.

_My dearest girl,_ came her father's voice. _What a wonderful moment it was 19 years ago when they placed you in my arms for the first time. I could tell from the first that you were going to be special. But even I didn't know you were going to be this special. What you are doing seasoned warriors twice your age would balk at—and you are doing it well, with grace and sensitivity and determination. I know if Fergus is alive, you will find him. Keep your eyes on the witch and the assassin. You can't trust either of them fully at this point. But I know you know that. Your Alistair is a good man, and I would be delighted to terrify him for a few hours before welcoming him into the family. He is still young in ways that you are not … but you are young in ways that he is not, so the two of you complement each other. My pride in you grows every day. I love you, Pup._

The tears were flowing freely down Una's face as she sat with her eyes closed, listening to the beloved voice. She hadn't noticed the camp quieting around her, as Wynne and Leliana both noticed her unusual stillness and silence, and Zevran, who had witnessed this before, ceased his practicing and drew near to the fire, watching her closely.

_Una, Una. _Her mother this time. _Happy birthday, my darling girl. Woman, I should say. Your actions have earned that title over and over again. You are a formidable woman—equal parts your father and me, I think, and that combination would frighten not a few people. As indeed it would—and will—terrify Rendon Howe._ Una heard the steel in her mother's voice in the last sentence, and renewed her vow to make Rendon Howe pay personally for every injury he had inflicted on her family. _You deserve all the happiness you have gained with this young man, who is clearly extraordinary if he is able to handle you. The two of you are a good match, and I am looking forward to grandchildren. Although you may wait on that until after the Blight is over._ Una heard a chuckle in her mother's voice this time, and she smiled through her tears. The voices faded, and she dragged the back of her hand across her face.

To her surprise, a great tongue swept over her cheek. Only now did she feel the familiar weight of Grenli's shoulder against hers, and on the other side the less familiar but just as dear pressure of Alistair snuggling up against her. She opened her eyes, noticing that Alistair—along with the rest of the camp—was watching her with some concern. Not Grenli, though. The mabari barked something at her that she assumed was his version of "Happy birthday", and dropped a half-eaten mouse into her lap. Una looked at the mouse and then at the very happy dog next to her.

"Thanks, Gren," she said brightly. "It's just what I always wanted. Only," she leaned over to stage-whisper in the dog's ear, "I had mouse for breakfast. You mind finishing this for me?"

She gingerly lifted the mouse with the edge of two fingers and dropped it into Grenli's open mouth. It disappeared instantly. He barked again, and lay down next to her, supremely happy.

"Um, happy birthday?" Alistair asked, having watched the whole exchange closely.

"Thank you," she said.

"You could have just said that's what was bothering you," he grumbled.

"I couldn't," she said. "Not until—" She glanced into the fire.

"They still there?" he asked. Una was touched that he remembered their conversation from the day he'd found her with the burning paper boat, all that time ago.

"They are," she said, smiling.

"It's your birthday?" Leliana exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I wish I'd known. I don't know how I'd bake a cake over the fire, but I could try …" Her voice trailed off, clearly working through the problem.

"No, really," Una said, her face reddening at all the sudden attention. "I didn't mean to make a big deal out of it. I just couldn't help thinking about what this day would have been like if my family …" She put a hand over her face to stem the tide of tears before it started again. Alistair's arms wrapped around her and she leaned into his comforting warmth.

"What would it have been like?" he asked gently. "I'd like to hear about it, if you're up for talking." Looking up, Una could see that Wynne and Leliana had drawn closer as well, and even Zevran, seemingly engrossed in the endless cleaning and honing of his knives, was not sitting as far away as he had been before. Morrigan had drawn closer to the group fire as well, unbelievably enough.

She took a deep breath. "Well, first there'd have been presents. My mother and sister-in-law would have gotten me some girly things that would have looked lovely on them, but made me feel like a fish out of water. For starters. And I'd have been expected to wear them to a ball held in my honor, no doubt. Where I'd have tried to sit out as much as I could so no one could see what a terrible dancer I am." Feeling she was being a bit unfair, she clarified, "They'd have meant well, of course. My mother was always a bit jealous that my father essentially had two sons. He understood me so much better than she did. I think it's only been in the last few months that I've become someone she could appreciate." Una couldn't stop the tears this time, and she took the immaculately pressed handkerchief, scented with some exotic cologne, that Zevran handed her with gratitude.

"No doubt she does," Wynne said with understanding.

"Thank you, Wynne. You're a lot like her."

"Thank _you_, my dear," Wynne replied. "That is a great compliment. I have heard much of Teyrna Eleanor, although I never had the pleasure of meeting her."

"I'm told in her youth she was quite a warrior," Una said. Wistfully, she added, "She never told me much about those days. I always wondered if she'd been more like me when she was younger."

There was a pause as Una stared sadly into the fire. Then Leliana sat forward. "What else would have happened on your birthday?" she asked eagerly. Looking around, Una realized with surprise that none of her companions had ever experienced a birthday surrounded by their family. How could she mourn having had 18 of them?

"My brother Fergus would have teased me unmercifully the whole day, promised that he'd gotten me absolutely nothing, left dreadfully inappropriate gifts lying around for me to find, and then at the end of the day surprised me with something utterly extravagant that his wife would have scolded him for buying. Right, boy?" she asked the mabari. Grenli barked, then whined sadly. "Grenli here was my 14th birthday present from Fergus, and has always been almost as much Fergus's dog as mine." She put her arm around the mabari, pressing her head briefly against his shoulder. "We'll find him, boy. If he's out there, we'll find him." Looking up at the others, she couldn't help grinning at the memory. "Oriana—my sister-in-law—was furious that Fergus had bought his sister a mabari puppy. Whether it was the money, the inappropriateness of a young woman owning a wardog, or the fact that he'd never have bought one for her, I don't know. And then at the very end of the day, just before I went to bed, Father would give me his present. It was always the best part of the day." She stared into the fire, the memory washing over her. "Last year it was a first edition of the_ Treatise on Warfare_."

"Your favorite book," Alistair said.

"Exactly. What I really miss, though, is my own copy. Father gave it to me for my 10th birthday, and it has—had, I guess—notes in the margins from both of us. The covers were practically worn off." It occurred to her then that none of her companions had ever known their fathers, either. She could have kicked herself. "I'm sorry, everyone," she said, looking around the fireside. "I was so lucky to have had them for so long. It seems selfish of me to mourn what so many have never had."

"But you know what you are missing. Those of us who have not grown up with our families, we may imagine, but we will never truly know." Zevran's voice was thoughtful. "I suspect, in truth, that the fantasies we construct are better than the realities would be."

"You can say that again," muttered Alistair. The scene with Goldanna still rankled bitterly in him.

There was silence around the campfire, as they all considered the families they had never known and the ones they had always dreamed of having. Una realized that this camp full of people were more of a family to each other than any of them had ever experienced before, and she felt a surge of pride at having brought them all together.


	24. Companions

_Thanks for reading, one and all! _

* * *

Breaking the somber mood that had settled over the companions, Leliana said, "Tell us about the ball." She was sitting up on her knees, all thoughts of dinner forgotten. "I've been to many in Orlais, but never one in Ferelden."

"Oh, my least favorite part," Una sighed. "My dance card would already be filled before I even walked in. Mostly by younger sons of nobles, generally in their middle teens."

"How old are you, exactly?" Alistair asked.

Zevran rolled his eyes and tsked. "Alistair, I know you are not skilled in the ways of women," he said, moving a few more inches away from Alistair's clenched fist and flashing eyes, "but it is never a good idea to ask a woman her age."

Una smiled, her hand on Alistair's causing him to relax his fist. "I don't mind. I'm 19 today." She saw their reactions and sighed. "I know, I'm very, very young to be doing this. But I don't see anyone else jumping up to do it, so I guess I'm it, young and everything. At any rate, I think my father had approached every eligible man he could think of about me, and none of them were willing to put up with me, not even as a favor to my parents or for the power connected with marrying a Teyrn's daughter. Which is fine, since I didn't want any of them, anyway."

"What man wouldn't want you?" Alistair wondered at the same time as Leliana asked, "What did you want?"

"I was awkward, downright rude on principle, and had the reputation of being headstrong and completely uncontrollable," Una said, answering Alistair's question first. "A reputation I was careful to keep up, mind you. My parents were reasonable people—neither of them would have pushed me into a marriage I didn't want, which is how a Teyrn's daughter gets to be 18 years old and unspoken for—but if anyone truly worthy had put himself forward, there would have been some pressure. I knew what I wanted," she said. "I wanted what my parents had—they were deeply in love, even after such a long time together, and it was easy to tell in the way they laughed and talked with each other. But my mother was more than my father's love. She was his friend and his partner. And that's what I looked for and could never find. Someone strong enough to win against me, both physically and in battles of will; someone secure enough to treat me as a person and a warrior, not just some simpering weakling; someone who could make me comfortable with myself as a woman. The last one was the part I thought was truly a fantasy." She spoke mostly to herself, having all but forgotten her audience. As her voice trailed off, and she stared into the flames remembering those dreams and dwelling on how recently they had become an almost unbelievable reality, those around the circle reacted to her words.

Wynne looked at the young couple in each other's arms by the fire, and a certain interlude of her youth came back to her, a man who had been strong enough to let her be who she was, strong enough to let her go when she needed it. Would she still have left if she'd known she would never find that again?

The automatic cynical response rose up in Zevran's throat, but it found no voice. Una's sincerity was too obvious. He had never known there were really women like this—people like this, for that matter. People for whom honor meant more than staying bought; women of courage and integrity who would give their whole selves to a partner. The genuineness of her love for the ex-Templar was obvious for all to see. Usually it made Zev scoff; he had whiled away quite a few hours on the long days of travel imagining the many tragic ways their love was likely to end. But for a moment, sitting here and listening to her, he could imagine a love that didn't end. One that grew stronger over time. When he found that his gaze had traveled to the red hair and sweet mouth of the bard, Zev shook his head, cursing at his own folly, and jumped up, going anywhere to get away from all that insidious … love.

Leliana sighed, thinking how nice it must be to be young and just at the beginning of love. Despite her experiences, the bard remained a true romantic and hadn't yet lost hope that there might be someone out there who could understand and accept her past. The rumble of someone's stomach brought her back to reality, however, and reminded her of the bits and pieces of dinner that lay around her, abandoned in her interest in Una's story.

Looking at the two of them, their foolish dependence on one another on display for all to see, Morrigan was tempted to scoff. But somehow it almost seemed … sweet, as well. She wondered if perhaps sometime in her life there would be time for such emotion. If she could ever find a man she could stomach looking at her that way, of course. And then she shook her head, angry at herself. She had a far greater purpose than merely becoming some man's … squishy lap toy. No over-idealistic pair of youthful puppies was going to turn her head away from her ultimate goal.

Alistair held Una, trying to control his furious blushing. He knew how she felt about him, but to have the picture painted for him in such flattering tones was more than he had expected. And he still didn't understand what it was about him that made her feel all those things. He was just Alistair, after all, and that had never aroused any particular emotions in anyone else, other than the odd bit of disgust or anger.

Grenli shifted, laying his head on his mistress's knee. Like her, he missed the family from Highever Castle, but he was living the true life of a wardog now. People snuck him food, even the dark one. And now his mistress was happy with the big one who acted like a puppy himself occasionally. All these things made Grenli mostly content. But he still wasn't fetching any sticks.

Withdrawing her attention from the flames, Una got up out of the circle of Alistair's arms, allowing him to get on with his camp chores for the evening. She took a moment by Morrigan's fire.

"That was an interesting display," Morrigan commented. "The celebration of your birth, I take it?"

"Something like that. I don't suppose you celebrated birthdays with Flemeth?"

"I believe Flemeth has had more birthdays than most of us can count," Morrigan said, amused. "And my birthdays were occasions for intensifying study. There was little time for celebration." She looked at Una. "Still, you must miss your family. They sound quite devoted."

"We were," Una said softly. "But I have a new family now," she added with a smile.

"You mean this motley band of adventurers, and Alistair?"

"Exactly." Una grinned. "And you."

Morrigan looked surprised. "Thank you." She stared after Una as the taller woman turned toward the main campfire.

Through the trees, Una spied Wynne in the fading light. The mage was practicing—it was one of the things she liked about Wynne, that old as she was, she was still trying to learn new things and hone her skills—but looked exhausted enough to have just been through a battle. This reminded Una of Wynne's fainting spell after the battle before, and she made her way to the mage's side.

"I don't think we ever talked about what happened to you the other day," Una said without preamble.

Wynne smiled. "No. We never did."

"Will you tell me now?"

The mage took a deep breath. "Before you arrived at the Tower, I engaged a great rage demon in battle. He was attacking Petra, my young apprentice, and I stepped in to save her." Wynne's eyes met Una's. "I did not survive that encounter with the demon."

"You look pretty good for someone who's been dead that long," Una said, not entirely sure how to take that news.

Wynne chuckled. "You think I'm exaggerating. Oh, don't deny it. I can see it in your eyes." She sighed. "How to explain? You see, as the demon disappeared, I fell. I felt the staff slip from my fingers, but I lacked the strength to reach for it. My body hadn't enough vitality left to keep my heart beating. Everything went grey around me, and I was moving toward … something. Then suddenly, I felt as though I was being held back. As though a presence had wrapped itself around me and was holding me, gently but firmly, as a mother would a running child. Slowly, I began to feel again—the cold floor of the Tower beneath my hip, the surge of my heart pumping again. With the power of this presence, I had returned to myself."

"So what was it, then?"

"A spirit of the Fade."

"Does that mean you're … possessed?"

"Not in the way you mean, no. I am not an abomination. You see, the Fade holds many spirits. Some of them are evil and mad, as you have seen. But others are … gentle. Friendly. Caring. As this one is. You see, I have always had an affinity for the spirits of the Fade. Over time, as I visited, I began to feel that one of them was with me, and slowly I realized it was the same one every time. I believe it is this spirit who pulled me back from death and now sustains me. But the spirit's power is weakening. I can feel it slip occasionally. I believe it is only a matter of time before the spirit gives out completely."

"Do you have any sense of when that time will be?"

Wynne shook her head.

"Because we can't spare you yet," Una said.

"Don't worry, my dear. I intend to see this through to the end. I don't like to leave things unfinished." Wynne patted the younger woman on the shoulder.

"Glad to hear it." The two of them made their way back to the fire, where it appeared that dinner was well on its way. Una sank down next to Leliana as the bard was stirring the pot that held the food. "Leliana, how is it that I never know precisely what we're eating, but it always tastes good?"

Leliana grinned. "A girl learns her secrets on the road." She looked around, then said, "I've been thinking about our conversation the other night."

"And?" Una wondered how her friend had been able to reconcile her training and aptitude for fighting with her devout belief in the Maker's peace and love.

"You were right. It is my choice whether I use my training for good. What we're doing—fighting against the Blight—is to restore the beauty of the Maker's world. It is important work, and it serves the light."

"So you feel better?" Una put her hand on her friend's shoulder.

"I do. Thank you, my friend."

"Any time."

Una spied Zev through the trees, making his way slowly back to the camp. She got up, attempting to head him off. She'd seen him take off earlier, looking grumpy.

"The beautiful Warden has something to say?" He was looking downright hostile, his defenses way up.

"Just checking on you."

"I am fine. You need not be concerned about me. I remember my vow."

"It's not just about that. You know that. We're a team. And I like to make sure we're all in good form. Because if we're not, people have a tendency to get hurt."

"How very honorable of you," he sneered.

"Zev, you're slipping," she said with some amusement. "Aren't you supposed to cover all your actual emotions with showy leers and flowery innuendoes? If you're not careful, we might start to learn a few things about you." Una grinned at him.

Zevran was forced to smile back at her. "You do seem to have a way of getting at people, lovely lady. But perhaps I have felt it necessary to lay off the 'showy leers and flowery innuendoes' in order not to be flattened by your very large, very cranky paramour."

"And deprive the rest of us of the show? Come on, Zev, I expected better from you." She sniffed the air. "I think our resident gourmet has dinner ready. Shall we go and see what … delights she has for us?" Una watched the elf closely, but could spy no reaction. Ah, well, there was plenty of time, she thought.

"Let us do so indeed," he grinned. Her not-so-subtle fishing hadn't been lost on him. So the Warden was sharp enough to have seen his interest, was she? Zevran's respect for her went up a notch as he followed her to the fireside.


	25. Giving

_Slightly shorter than usual, and definitely NSFW._

After dinner, the lovers withdrew to their tent together. As Una dug around in her pack for her hairbrush, she heard Alistair's awkward "I have something to say but don't know how to" noises behind her. Smiling at him, she stood up. "Something you need, my dear?"

"It's just that I don't have anything to give you. I mean, I don't actually own anything myself—it's all more part of a collective inventory—except the things you've given me."

"For my birthday, you mean? Because that's really not necessary."

"I wish I could, though. Something truly worthy of you." His whole romantic heart was in his eyes.

"My darling, don't you know that you already have? You're the only birthday gift I could have wanted." Una took his hand.

It was such a sweet and wonderful and unbelievable thing for her to say that he wanted to say something in return that would be just as amazing. But he was Alistair, sayer of stupid things, and she scrambled his brains at the best of times, so what came out was, "Why?"

She just looked at him.

He knew this was his chance to salvage the moment, to say something that would make her understand what he meant. But instead, he said, "I mean, is it just because I'm … here?" He could have happily marched outside and into the nearest nest of darkspawn when he saw her eyes widen and knew he had hurt her.

Una turned around, resuming the search for her hairbrush. "It's funny," she said conversationally. "When I was Lady Cousland of Highever—back when I wore fine clothes and bathed regularly—the only men who deigned to give me a second glance were the ones after my family's money and power. Now that I'm just Una the Grey Warden—clad in armor that's usually covered in blood and more or less unwashed—I seem to attract everyone's interest. Perth, Teagan, that cute guy with the Denerim guards, even Zev ... they've all made it quite obvious that they find something about me enticing." She turned to look at Alistair, her eyes cold with anger and disappointment. "So please, don't demean either of us by accusing me of having no other option."

He held up his hands. "I swear, that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Her tone made it clear that this better be good.

"It's just that … I'm just Alistair, you know? I'm not a knight, or a Bann, or even a Captain. I don't have 'the sexy accent,'" he said, in a horrible parody of Zevran. "I don't really … have anything."

"Actually," she broke in, "you do have quite a sexy accent."

"I do?"

"Oh, yeah."

He was glad to see she didn't look so mad now, and it was nice to think she found his accent sexy, but now he was all self-conscious about talking. "No one's ever seen anything … special in me," he said. "Except Duncan. And I—I'm just not sure …"

"If you can trust me?"

"It's not so much trust," he said. "It's more … well, this has been like magic. What if I wake up tomorrow and it's all gone away just as magically and you—you're not mine anymore?"

Una looked into his miserable face, her heart melting. "I don't know," she said. "I plan to be yours pretty much forever, if that helps. I understand why you feel that way, and that my promising doesn't help that much. I guess you'll just have to trust me that I really do love you. You, Alistair, who are well worth loving. Until some day you wake up believing it. Can you do that?"

He thought trusting her sounded a lot better than the alternative. He nodded.

Una closed her eyes so he wouldn't see the irritation she knew must show in them. She knew why he was insecure, and didn't entirely blame him for it, but she had to admit she was getting tired of having to talk him into their relationship all the time.

Alistair saw the annoyance anyway, and cursed himself for being a babbling idiot. "I'm sorry," he said. He reached out, pulling her toward him. When she didn't resist, he said, "I don't suppose you'd let me … make it up to you?" He slid his hand up her side, under her shirt, caressing her smooth skin.

"What did you have in mind?"

He brushed her hair back from her neck, nibbling gently. "I thought I might start off with this," he murmured.

"Doing good so far." She arched her neck.

"I have a few other ideas, as well, if you're interested." He slid his hands down her back, cupping her buttocks, pulling her against him.

Una sighed, clinging to him.

"I'll take that as a yes." He pushed her shirt aside, kissing her shoulder, while his fingers stroked the backs of her thighs. Una started to slide her own hand up under his shirt, but he caught it in his. "Nope. My turn this time." He slipped her shirt off over her head, and laid her gently down on the bedrolls. Alistair lay next to her, one hand stroking her stomach. Slowly it moved up her ribcage, sliding around her back to unfasten her breastband. He tossed the scrap of fabric over his shoulder and returned his hand to her body, cupping her breast. Rolling on top of her, settling himself between her legs, he took the other breast in his other hand, cupping and stroking the delicate flesh. Una shifted restlessly under him, trying to force her nipples into his hands. Bending down, he blew lightly on one. She moaned. He stroked his hands down her ribcage and across her stomach, taking first one nipple and then the other in his mouth, kissing and nibbling. Una arched her back, her hands tangled in his hair, holding his head to her. His hands skimmed beneath her waistband again, stroking the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Shifting, not removing his mouth from her breasts, he pushed her breeches and smallclothes down as she lifted her hips to let them slide over her curves.

"My turn yet?" she asked.

"Not tonight, my love," he said, settling back between her legs. His mouth moved slowly over her ribs and down across her stomach while his hands caressed her thighs. Then he lifted her legs, draping them over his shoulders, and she felt the soft, wet touch of his tongue between her legs. She gave a cry, arching up. "Shh," he said. "Do you want them to hear you?" Easier said than done, she thought. Then he put his mouth over her most sensitive spot, sucking gently then lightly scraping with his teeth, and she grabbed her pillow, pulling it over her face to try and muffle her moans. As his tongue and teeth continued to work on her, she felt a finger slide inside her. The sensation was absolutely incredible, and she felt herself spasming against him, her head spinning.

When her head cleared, he was lying next to her, his hands stroking her breasts, pinching her nipples very lightly. She arched again, still aroused. "And you wonder why you're the most perfect gift I could have asked for," she whispered, catching her breath as his hand dipped back between her legs, playing with her. "Where did you learn all this?"

"Natural skills," he murmured, his mouth at her neck again. She pushed herself against his hand. "I find you quite inspiring." He moved his fingers in a small circle at just the right spot.

Una whimpered. "Alistair."

"Mmm?"

"Please? I need you."

Without another word, he moved over her, sliding inside her with familiar ease. She moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist. They moved together rhythmically, tension rising inside them until it reached its peak and they clung to each other, panting.

She fell asleep first, curled against him, and he held her, watching her sleeping face in wonder, memorizing this moment … just in case.

* * *

_A/N: As we get deeper into the story, I'm more comfortable with the original writing, but I still question my smut. I've learned, though, is that often my smut tends to be better written the first time than the end result of multiple revisions, which can leach the life right out of it, so I've tried to learn to leave it alone.  
_


	26. Rest

_Thanks for reading, all! I remember what fun this whole birthday section was to write - I hope it's as much fun to read._

* * *

The next day, the whole crew of them were acting strangely. Except Morrigan, who merely studied them all like specimens of odd bugs. Una had a reasonable suspicion of why they were all acting this way, but the specifics she wasn't sure about. And when the whole day went by—with whispered conversations and people disappearing into nearby farmholds—without any kind of birthday surprise appearing, she had to admit she was confused. She tried to ask Alistair about it at bedtime, and he kept saying "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," until finally he kissed her, which effectively stopped all the questions.

She was awakened by a rather annoying bird chirping outside her tent. Raising her head, she could tell it was full daylight outside—why had no one called her for her turn on watch? Groggily, Una got up and dressed. Poking her head out of the tent, she looked around. It was a beautiful day. Sunny and warm—and what was that smell? It was wonderfully familiar. Tantalizing and sweet and just a little … fried? She looked over at the fire, where Leliana was bent over a frying pan.

"What are you making?" she asked.

"Oh," Leliana said, looking up in surprise. "Happy birthday!"

Una groaned. "I knew it!"

"None of that, now." Alistair appeared, a huge grin on his face, carrying an armload of wood. "We're overdue for a day off anyway. Lots to do around camp. And you're not doing any of it."

"But I should clean my armor, and—"

"Nope," he said. "You are officially not in charge today, and those of us in charge say you are not to do anything useful. At all."

Una looked helplessly at Leliana, who shrugged. And held out a plate. "Crepes?"

"Crepes? Orlesian crepes?" Una's eyes widened. "It's been years. And strawberries, too?" Leliana nodded. "Well, maybe a little break might be a good idea." She took the plate, eagerly digging her fork into the thin, sweet pancake. Which was marvelous. "This is really, really good," she said between bites. Leliana watched the Grey Warden shovel in the food with widened eyes. She'd been worried about the recipe, whether it would come out all right … Clearly she'd managed to do a good job with the limited ingredients at her disposal.

"My work here is done," Leliana said with a bright smile, disappearing into her tent. Una could hear the sound of a blade being sharpened.

As Una licked the plate clean of the most delectable food she'd tasted in months, at least, she felt a presence next to her. Looking up, she saw Morrigan standing there, looking uncomfortable. "Happy birthday," the mage said stiffly.

"Thank you. You don't need to do anything, though," Una said. "This all was not my idea."

"Oh, I know quite well whose idea it was," Morrigan said. She glared at Alistair, who was whistling cheerfully as he … darned socks? Una was beginning to wonder if she'd hit her head and was having some kind of hallucination. "Is there more to it than the offer of felicitations?"

"No. That's enough. And appreciated."

"Ah. Then I must use this unexpected time off to my advantage." Morrigan returned to her own fire.

Grenli came over, looking longingly at the plate. "Oh, Gren, did I not save any for you? Sorry, boy. That was incredibly good." Lifting the dog's ear, she whispered into it. She giggled as she watched him duck his head into their tent. He snuffled around in Alistair's pack and emerged with a particularly smelly chunk of cheese, carrying it off to chew on.

"Hey!"

Una looked around. He was glaring at her.

"I was saving that."

"I know," she said. "And it smelled. Badly."

"Do you know what kind of cheese that was?"

"Stinky and disgusting. If you must obsess over cheeses, can you please do so over cheeses that don't smell … like that?"

"I'll have you know, that's very good cheese," Alistair said, affronted.

"And I'd rather eat that sock."

"It's yours, so go ahead."

"You— You're darning _my_ socks?"

"I am. Doesn't get my cheese back, though, does it?" he pouted.

"No, and it won't. Seriously," she said. "Next time you bring something that smells like that into the tent, I'm sleeping with the mabari."

"He brings _himself_ in there every night," Morrigan put in from her campfire. "You'll be spending many nights with your dog, I predict."

Alistair bristled, although not as much as usual, and Una sighed. It just never ended with those two.

She got up, stretching.

"My lady," purred the Antivan voice next to her elbow, "such a sight is truly deserving of a celebration."

"Ah, Zev," she said over Alistair's growl. "So glad to see you're feeling better."

"Indeed I am, lovely lady."

Muttering under his breath, Alistair took his bundle of socks and disappeared into the tent. Una hoped giving Grenli his cheese wouldn't ruin whatever plans her lover had for the day … but she couldn't regret it, either. It really had stunk. She turned her attention back to Zevran, who had produced seemingly out of nowhere a narrow sharp little knife.

"Um, you're planning to disembowel me right here in camp?"

"Not the first thing on my mind, no," he admitted. "Actually, this is a present. Happy birthday."

"A skinning knife?"

"No, no," said the Antivan. "Behold." A slender leather sheath with a little strap had appeared in his hands as well. He slid a hand down her calf to pull up her pant leg.

"Zev!"

"Just … demonstrating," he said, buckling the sheath around her leg inside her boot. The little knife fit perfectly inside. "You see, in case you are overpowered? And need a weapon at close quarters. If done correctly, the enemy will not even know he has been cut until his blood is all outside his body. I can instruct you in these arts, if you are of a mind."

"I'm not really—"

"I know, you are more of a smasher, wielding your giant hammer. But occasionally even a powerful warrior such as yourself is in need of a little … subtlety."

"Thank you, Zev." She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek, to the voluble disgust of Alistair, who had just emerged from the tent.

Zev disappeared into the trees at that point, and she heard the rhythmic thunk of his arrows as he practiced his archery. Soon enough, Leliana had emerged from her tent and a second set of arrow thunks joined the first.

"You know," Una murmured, "if any of your plans involve us being out of camp, it might be a good time to give those two some privacy."

"Those two?" Alistair looked confused. Then he followed her pointed gaze to the glade where the two rogues were practicing. "Leliana? And Zevran?"

"Shh!" Una hissed with urgency.

"You don't mean … what I think you mean?"

"Not if you keep shouting about it."

"Oh. All right, then," he said.

"That is, if you're still speaking to me."

He raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Maybe not exactly _speaking_." And suddenly the day was much warmer.

"Speaking definitely overrated," she offered, somewhat breathlessly.

He picked up a basket she didn't think she'd ever seen before, and handed her a pair of practice swords. Una looked at him questioningly. He nodded. "Oh, yes, before the day's out, you'll be bowing at the feet of the most powerful warrior in Ferelden."

"How exactly do I bow at my own feet?" she asked, following him out of camp.

"Aren't you cute? So optimistic," he cooed at her.

They had camped not far from Lake Calenhad, and he led her to a secluded spot near the lake, surrounded by willow trees, but with a nice broad expanse of grass. "You planned this all yesterday?" she asked.

"It was very difficult," he said. "With the food, and the location scouting … a lot of work. I wore myself out."

"I could tell," she said in mock disappointment. "Last night was a bit … lackluster." She sighed for effect, watching him closely, expecting the attack, but he merely grinned at her.

"Nice try." He handed her the larger of the two swords.

"What, no hammer?"

"You think I want you knocking me over the head with that thing? Thank you, no." He took the other sword and his shield. "Ready?"

For answer, she struck out, narrowly missing his stomach as he jumped back. "Lose focus in this game for one minute …"

He feinted with the sword, then struck at her with the shield. She twisted out of the way, coming around to land the edge of the wooden sword against his calf. She used the sword to lever herself back into stance, leaving him stumbling. He glared at her, and she waggled her eyebrows at him.

They struck and parried for a while, neither gaining any particular advantage. Both were breathing hard, their shirts stuck to their chests with sweat. Alistair called a break and pulled his off.

"No fair!" she said.

He grinned at her. "Go ahead. Make it even." The dark eyes dared her, but she remembered the last time they'd squared off, and the audience they'd gathered. No, she'd keep her shirt on. "I don't think we ever decided what I'll get when I win."

She watched a drop of sweat roll down his chest, over the well-defined muscles of his stomach … "What?"

He threw back his head and laughed. It really was a very warm day, she thought. Suddenly much warmer. "What do I get when I win?"

"You say that as though it has a chance of happening." She tried a straight thrust to the chest, which he parried. Their blades were crossed now, their bodies almost touching. Without thinking about it, she swayed just the tiniest bit closer, allowing her nipples, hardened to points beneath her shirt, to brush his naked chest. The spicy scent of his cologne was intoxicating. She swallowed.

"You could … concede," he said raggedly.

Una looked into his eyes, which were smoldering like coals. And grinned. "Not a chance." She unlocked her blade from his with a swift movement, whirling and slashing. His shield automatically came up to block the blow. They reset, slowly circling each other. Each of them tried a couple of swipes at the other. Then she swept out with the sword. Alistair hit back with the shield, knocking her off balance, and he charged forward, pinning her against a tree with his shield arm, knocking the sword from her hands. But before he could get his sword in place, he felt the tiny knife at his throat.

"I believe I win," she said triumphantly.

"No, no, absolutely not. Cheating! I won—I knocked you out of battle."

"But you'd have been dead before you got your sword ready."

"It was a test of who's the best warrior, not who would die first!"

She slid the little knife back into her sheath. "I'd say the best warrior is the one who survives the battle, wouldn't you?"

"I would not!" He dropped the shield and sword, holding her pinned against the tree with his body, his breath coming in harsh pants. "You clearly lost!"

"I did not!"

And then he was kissing her, his mouth savage on hers. She took his head in her hands, holding him to her, kissing him back with equal frenzy. She felt him fumbling with both sets of breeches, and then he was thrusting into her as her legs wrapped around him, lifting her off the ground, all the pent-up adrenaline exploding out of both of them.

When the storm had passed, he leaned his head, dark with sweat, against her shoulder. "Rematch?" she asked him breathlessly.

"Rematch," he sighed, panting. "Have to. But no cheating."

"What's that supposed to mean, Ser Oh-it's-so-hot-let-me-take-my-shirt-off?"

"Point taken."

"So, lunch?" he asked, once they'd gotten their breathing back to normal and straightened out their clothes. He gestured to the picnic basket.

"What do you have in there?"

He started unpacking. "Fresh bread, baked yesterday. Cheese."

"Of course. Does it smell?"

"Yes, it smells wonderful," he said.

"I'll bet. Pass on the cheese."

"That's the best part!"

"Then you won't mind if I leave it for you," she said, smiling sweetly at him.

Alistair grumbled, diving back into the basket. "Wine, too." He sliced off a hunk of the fresh bread, handing it to her. It was heavenly to taste something baked in an actual oven again. Leliana did wonders, but real baking was beyond the capabilities of the campfire. "You sure about the cheese?" He waved the smelly stuff under her nose.

"Can't you eat normal cheese? Hard, non-smelly cheese?"

He shook his head at her. "For a fine, titled lady, you have surprisingly common tastes in cheese."

"And for a Chantry orphan, you have surprisingly expensive tastes." She stretched out on her back, enjoying the sun. "Where exactly did you develop this taste for expensively disgusting cheeses, anyway?"

Lying down on his stomach next to her, Alistair laughed. "Bann Teagan, actually," he said, and he launched into the story.

The lovers, enjoying a precious lazy day together, didn't notice the various sets of eyes passing through the trees around them. But they were observed.

Leliana came past, looking for herbs to add to the stew for dinner. Catching sight of the two of them looking so young and happy together, she stopped. Pain flitted over her face as she remembered certain times in her own life when she had looked at someone that way and thought it was forever. She sighed, moving on.

Wynne and Grenli, out for a walk together, paused to watch. In the distance, Una lay laughing, one hand reaching out to tousle Alistair's hair as he tried to wrestle her away. "Meant to be," was it? Wynne thought. Maybe so. But she shook her head anyway, hoping the distraction wouldn't prove disastrous eventually. The mabari, on the other hand, watched his mistress with joyous eyes. It had been a long time since he'd seen her happy this way. Finally she looked and acted like the young mistress who had first won his loyalty.

Zevran slipped through the trees, his face inscrutable. Una sat up on her knees, hands waving in the air, telling some kind of involved story to Alistair, who lay on his side with his head propped up on one hand. The elf's eyes narrowed. Was he thinking of his oath? Remembering a past moment of doing nothing with someone precious to him? It was hard to tell. He shook his head, slipping noiselessly through the trees.

The raven landed on a tree above their heads, looking down as the young couple embraced and kissed. This love could prove quite inconvenient, thought the bird who was Morrigan. Her mother had warned her to watch for it, warned her that the obvious draw between the two young Wardens could ruin their plans. Although, given Alistair's distaste for her, Morrigan could believe that the other woman provided leverage that she might need later. If she could keep on Una's good side. The raven flapped away again, leaving the lovers undisturbed.


	27. Unexpected

_Thanks for reading, all!_

* * *

As the daylight began to wane, Alistair and Una reluctantly packed up what little was left of their picnic. They went back to the camp, hand in hand, looking more relaxed than any of their companions had ever seen them. Everyone seemed refreshed, Una thought, looking around the fireside at all of them.

When dinner was finished, Wynne came to sit next to Una. "My dear," she began, "I have not yet given you my gift."

"Really, Wynne, that's not necessary," Una began to protest.

"But I want to. So hush now," the mage scolded gently. "It's a story, actually."

"Is there a moral?" Una eyed the older woman askance.

"That will be for you to decide. Once upon a time, there was a small kingdom. This small kingdom was under the thumb of another, larger kingdom, and had all but given up. All but the members of a very small, ragtag, but very valiant army. One of the warriors in this army was a woman—a young lady of great fire and determination. She was lovely, as well, but few noticed that because she was such a fearsome warrior, and she wore her fearsomeness on her sleeve for all to see. In battle, she was usually in the midst of the fiercest fighting, and she rarely obeyed the orders of the commanders, always striking out on her own. Often, she managed incredible feats because of this, but several times she and her companions were nearly killed. At last, one of the commanders, a young man of skill almost as fearsome as her own, and with a temper to match, took her in hand, pointing out all the people she was endangering by her actions. The young woman was angry, and the two of them had a battle royal in which neither would concede and neither showed any sign of giving in. Eventually, the young woman faltered for just a split second, and the young man won the contest. After that, a change was noticed in her. She listened more, quarrelled less, and began to change from a warrior into a soldier. She never did admit that the young man had beaten her—she always claimed to have let him win. And maybe she did. He was quite handsome, after all." Wynne looked affectionately at the girl at her side. "Eventually the ragtag army won their war, beating back the larger kingdom and reclaiming their own. The young man and young woman settled down together, and I believe lived happily for the rest of their lives. As Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever." Una smiled. "Your mother was famed across Ferelden for her wild ways, for her skill in battle, for her untameable spirit. Until she met your father, that is."

"I never heard any of that," Una said. "They wouldn't talk about it. When my father and I were alone, he would hint occasionally that I had no idea what my mother was capable of, but … why wouldn't they tell me?" she wondered.

"It could be that Lady Eleanor didn't want you growing up as wild and headstrong as she had been."

"Thank you, Wynne. It's nice to hear about the days when they were young, to know that maybe I'm more like her than I ever thought. I just wish I could share some of these moments with her."

"I'm sure she does, too, my dear."

Later, Una lay in Alistair's arms in their tent, feeling his breathing slowing against her. "Thank you," she said.

"Hmm?"

"This was the best birthday I ever had."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm."

"I never gave you my present."

She pushed herself up on her elbow, straining to see his face in the darkness. "I thought the whole day was your present."

"Kind of," he said. His hand reached out, pushing the curtain of her hair back from her face. "But I wanted to give you something else. Something to keep."

"Didn't we talk about this? We have enough to carry …" Her voice trailed off as he put his fingers over her lips.

"I hope you won't have a hard time carrying this. It's a promise."

"What kind of promise?"

Alistair sat up, taking her hands in his. She could feel his hands trembling just the slightest bit. "I promise, some day, to give you a home."

She threw her arms around him. "I'll treasure it," she whispered. Love, sex, and a commitment? No question about it, best birthday ever.

* * *

They were back on the march the next day, refreshed from the day off. The weather continued to be beautiful, and the travel was almost enjoyable.

Midmorning they were walking next to a slight overhang when Una and Alistair both sensed a darkspawn presence. A hurlock emissary stepped out of nowhere, hurling a fireball at the whole company, knocking them all to the ground. Wynne was the first to recover herself. Looking around at her companions, most of them still enveloped in the flames, all of them struggling to rise, she raised her arms in the air, calling on the spirit that sustained her to wrap its healing presence around the entire company. The flames receded, and the rest of the team was soon up and attacking the group of darkspawn.

Una, as was her way, took off after the magic user first, rushing up to the top of the embankment to engage the emissary. She had taken him out by the time the rest of them were through with the underlings, so no one saw what transpired in their battle. She came down from the embankment looking tired and blood-spattered. "Wynne, what was that?" she asked.

The mage looked up from the hurlock she was looting, clutching a lyrium potion. The others were all scattered around the battlefield, collecting whatever was useful from the fallen foes. "I didn't know I could do that," Wynne said. Standing up, she put a hand to her head. "It took a lot out of me, though."

Una felt a bit dizzy herself. "In that case, you probably don't want to do it that often."

"No," Wynne said with a chuckle, "it wouldn't do to entertain children at parties with. But it may prove useful in an emergency."

"Possibly so," Una said. Her head was swimming.

"Are you all right, my dear?"

"Fine," Una heard herself say, as if from a long way off. "I'll just—" She tried to gesture to a nearby tree stump, but her arm was too heavy to lift. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she slumped to the ground.

"Una!" Wynne went down on her knees next to the younger woman, putting her ear to Una's chest. Within moments, the rest of the company, having heard Wynne's cry, was surrounding her. Looking up, Wynne saw Alistair's white face as he cradled Una's head in his lap. "She's still breathing, but I don't know what's wrong. I don't even see a wound. We need to get this armor off her."

Quickly, they all worked to take off her armor. As Leliana removed the boot from Una's left foot, blood poured out of it. It was running down her leg from a deep cut on her inner thigh. "Wouldn't she have felt that?" the bard asked.

"I do not think so," Zevran said seriously. "It looks as if it was made by a very thin blade." His quick hands were tying a tourniquet around the leg as he spoke, and the blood began to bubble rather than pulse from the wound.

Wynne performed a healing spell and placed a poultice over the wound. She put her hand on Alistair's shoulder. "She's going to be all right," she said. "But she's lost a tremendous amount of blood, and that I cannot heal with a spell or poultice." She looked around them. "Anyone know where we are?"

"Not far from Redcliffe, actually. An hour, maybe two, walking?" Alistair estimated. He couldn't believe he was actually speaking coherently—half of his brain was utterly frozen in terror, looking at her still face. What would he do if she—

"All right," Wynne said decisively. "Zevran and Leliana, you two are the fastest. Go on ahead to the castle, tell them we'll need to rely on their hospitality for a few days while the Grey Warden recuperates. If Arlessa Isolde gives you any trouble, you may remind her that we are on our way to search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes," she added sternly. Then she looked at Alistair. "I don't expect she'll recover consciousness for some time. Can you carry her?"

"Across all of Thedas, if I have to," he said, tenderly lifting the limp body in his arms. The mabari clung to his side, whining. Morrigan trailed behind them a bit, concerned. She rather liked Una, truth be told, and many plans would come to naught if the Grey Warden died.

As they came into the great hall of Redcliffe Castle, Bann Teagan and Arlessa Isolde rushed forward, both of them clucking over Una, who, true to Wynne's prediction, had yet to regain consciousness.

"She'll need to rest for several days while she regains her strength. She's lost a lot of blood, but should be fine after some rest," Wynne said in response to their panicked inquiries.

Exhausted though his arms were, Alistair would not let anyone else carry her. He and the mabari both refused to be sent from the room once she was safely tucked into bed. "I'm staying right here until she wakes up," Alistair said stubbornly, and Grenli barked something similar in tone. The two of them looked strangely alike standing there, Wynne thought in a mixture of affection and exasperation.

"Fine," she said. "You two keep an eye on her, come wake me up if anything changes. I'm going to get some sleep."

Left alone with her, the two of them took up positions on either side of the bed. "You know," Alistair said, holding her hand, "this is very bad timing of you. Cover your ears," he said to the dog, who did so. "This could have been our first night making love in a real bed. Do you know how long I've been looking forward to that?" Under other circumstances, he might have been embarrassed by the idea of sharing a room with her at Redcliffe Castle, scene of his childhood, but all that was forgotten now. He put his head down on the bed next to her. _Dear Maker, please let her wake up soon. Please let her be okay. Teyrn Cousland? Teyrna? Are you listening?_ He caught himself actually trying to hear her parents' voices. _Oh, Alistair, you are far gone_. After a while, he fell asleep.


	28. Wounded

_Thanks for reading, all! _

* * *

Una woke up feeling oddly paralyzed. Nothing hurt that badly, except a dull throb in one leg, but she couldn't move at all. When she opened her eyes, it was pitch dark. Was she in some kind of Fade nightmare again? She tried to remember the last thing she'd been doing. She remembered the emissary, talking to Wynne … then nothing else. Panic began to rise in her.

Slowly, she became aware of a familiar sound. Alistair, she thought with relief. Snoring. Shifting her right arm experimentally, she felt a warm weight shift with it and heard a sleepy grumble. So that explained the right side. She was lying under some kind of blanket, and Alistair was lying on top of it. What about the left?

Something cold and wet brushed her neck, and she smelled the remains of whatever Grenli had eaten for dinner. Aha, she thought. She grinned into the darkness, feeling very loved. "Do the two of you mind getting off me?" she said, loudly and firmly.

Both of them jumped, startled apparently out of deep sleep.

"Did you say something? Tell me you said something!" came Alistair's voice in her right ear, while Grenli snuffled wetly at her left.

"I said, get off me!" she said in mingled affection and irritation. Both of them hastened to do so. Una stretched luxuriantly in the bed. Bed? Where in Thedas was she? "That's better," she said tartly. "Now, do either of you want to explain to me where I am and how I got here?" Grenli let out a woof, but Alistair cut him off. "I'll handle this part, Gren." The dog grunted. Alistair proceeded to fill her in on the events of the day, ending by taking her hand in both of his, squeezing tightly. "Thank the Maker you're all right. I don't know what I would have done if—"

Una sighed. "Maybe we ought to talk about that," she said. "Because I'd have had the same reaction if our positions were reversed. And if one of us were to fall and the other one fell apart, Ferelden would be doomed and Wynne would be right."

"Wynne?"

Feeling rather more pain in her leg than she'd anticipated, Una sat up, finding Alistair's hands already behind her with a pillow to prop herself up against. "She gave me a lecture one night about how we're Grey Wardens, and we have a higher duty than our personal feelings and what if we had to choose between the world and each other and all that."

"Very gloomy of her."

"She finished it up by shaking her finger at me particularly. Like I was some corrupter of youth, or something, when I'm younger than you!" Una finished indignantly. "At least, I assume I'm younger," she added, realizing that she didn't actually know how old he was. "How old are you?"

"Twenty." His voice was filled with suppressed laughter. "Glad to hear Wynne was looking out for me."

"No doubt about who's her favorite," Una grumbled.

"She does have good taste," he said smugly.

"If I could see you, I'd hit you with this pillow."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Anyway," Una said in exasperation, "my point stands."

"Your point? Oh, yes, the very cheery one about what if one of us dies."

"I know," she sighed, "but I think we have to talk about the possibility."

"The Blight's the main thing, isn't it? We have to end the Blight, whether it's both of us or just one."

"Exactly. The Blight first, over each other's welfare, over vengeance against Loghain and Howe, over our own survival."

"Agreed," said Alistair. "Now, if we're done being all valiant and everything, can I tell you—or better yet, show you—how very glad I am that you're okay?" He lifted her hand, pressing soft kisses into her palm. Una shivered.

Next to the bed, the mabari whined.

"Grenli doesn't want to be in here for this part," Una said. "Can you let him out? Then I look forward to your … demonstration." She grinned in the darkness.

"Oh, all right," Alistair said, getting up to open the door. The dog left the room, but another form came in. Wynne used her candle to light a few of the sconces on the walls. The room was filled with a sudden brightness.

"Glad to see you're awake," the mage said. "Any pain?"

"Some when I moved," Una said as Wynne moved the covers aside to look at the wound.

"Good. It's healing well." She looked at Una. "I suggest another day of bed rest, then a couple of days of minimal wear and tear before we set out on the road again."

"Yes, ma'am," Una said meekly.

Wynne raised an eyebrow. "I expected more argument."

"No, ma'am."

"Uh-huh." Suddenly the mage turned on Alistair. "And you, young man, will find another room."

"But I—"

"When I say bed rest, I mean rest. Not what _you_ had in mind." Her eyes raked over the warrior, who blushed scarlet.

"If we promise to behave, can he stay?" Una asked. She admitted she was enjoying her lover's sputterings, but not enough to be willing to sleep alone if she didn't have to.

"Can you?" Wynne looked skeptical.

"Probably?"

Wynne laughed. "You tear open that wound, we'll all regret it," she said.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"All right, then. You two get some sleep." She poked a finger in Alistair's chest. "I mean sleep, do you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, sounding like a chastened child.

"Uh-huh." Wynne didn't sound entirely convinced, but she took her candle and left.

"This is no fair at all," Alistair pouted. "Do you know how many times I've dreamed of having you in a real bed?"

"Poor thing," Una grinned.

"I suppose sleeping in a real bed is enough treat. For now," he said, still sulking.

Una settled back to enjoy the show as he undressed. "You're right," she said, watching the lights from the sconces play on the muscles of his back. "It's not fair at all."

"Ha! See?"

"Yes. Yes, I do," she said. "The lights are a bonus, too. I better be off bed-rest by tonight, that's all I can say."

"From your mouth to the Maker's ears," he said with heartfelt enthusiasm. He blew out the sconces and climbed into bed. Curling up around her, he held her for a few moments before whispering, "I was so scared."

"We need to be more careful. I think we've gotten complacent over time."

"We are highly skilled," he murmured sleepily.

"Highly. But even the most highly skilled can have an off day," she said. She waited for an answer, but he was already asleep.

The sunlight was streaming into the room through the windows when she woke up again. Una shifted her leg experimentally. Not bad. A little twinge, but nowhere near as sore as it had been during the night.

"Feeling better?" Alistair raised his head off the pillow to look at her. His hair was all tousled and he looked adorably sleepy.

"Much," she said, and had to laugh at how quickly his expression brightened. "You're spoiled, you know that?"

"Oh?" he said, one eyebrow arching. "Just me, is it?" His hand slid across her belly under the covers, caressing her soft skin, and Una held her breath. "No, you don't want me to do that, do you? Hmm … I wonder if there's breakfast down in the kitchens. I'm pretty hungry." But he didn't move.

"See, you can't even bluff properly," she said, giggling.

"I see," he said, "so now you think you have more willpower than I do?"

"Darling, that's not even in question, is it?"

"All right, then," he said, tossing the covers back and getting up. "Breakfast it is. Shall I get some for you, too, or do you refuse to admit you want that, either?"

Open-mouthed, Una stared at him. If she'd been betting, she'd have lost a lot of gold when he got up. Collecting herself, she said, "No, definitely want breakfast," stressing the last word teasingly. He shot her a glance that looked not entirely amused. The twinge in her leg as she sat up convinced her not to try mending this particular fence just now, but later tonight there might well be a need to be demonstrative and salvage her lover's wounded pride.

Grumbling under his breath, Alistair left the room. Wynne came in as soon as the door opened. "I see from Alistair's expression that the two of you behaved yourselves last night." Una grinned. "More to the point, you behaved yourself, is that the way it went?"

"Something like that. I may be in some trouble."

"Hm." Wynne checked the wound. "I think you can probably get up around dinner-time and resume normal activity tomorrow. We should be able to get on the road again the day after tomorrow."

"Good. Glad to hear it. Kind of." Wynne raised an eyebrow. "Real beds are more comfortable than the ground," Una explained.

"Definitely true. These old bones are glad of the break. But please don't go and get yourself almost killed again on my account."

"I'll do my best. Wynne?"

"Yes?"

"Am I healed enough to have a bath?"

"I think so," the mage said. "I'll have one brought in. After that, the others all want to see you. They've been worried."

Wynne left, and Una stretched, enjoying the sheer sensation of being indoors, in bed, under covers. After a while, the door opened and Alistair staggered in, carrying a tray heaped high with food.

"Never been so glad to see you before in all my life," she said. "I'm starving."

"Oh, is some of this supposed to be for you?" He glared at her.

Una bit her cheek to keep from smiling. "I suppose I could get up and walk down to the kitchen myself," she said. "Which might result in tearing open my wound again and more bed rest."

"No, no," he said hastily, handing her a plate. Then he blushed, realizing the trap he'd fallen into, while Una grinned triumphantly. "Okay, that was a falter, but I haven't lost yet."

"Just wait," she said around a mouthful of ham. "You will." Her eyes twinkled at him.

Alistair groaned, digging a fork into his own plate. He supposed it was silly of him, trying to play this game with her … but the longer it went on, the more he realized he wanted to win.

Una knew the prudent, thoughtful, caring thing would be to let him win … she just wasn't sure she could do it. She couldn't remember ever having let anyone win anything her whole life.

As they were eating, a pair of servants came in and out with steaming buckets of water, filling the tub. Alistair watched them, his eyes filled with horror. He was never going to make it through this, not without going absolutely out of his mind.

When the bath was filled and the servant girls had left, Una pushed the covers aside. Alistair put his plate down, ready to help her up. "Are you all right?" he asked, watching her gingerly put her weight on her injured leg.

"Okay," she said, but she winced.

"All right," he sighed, helping her over to the bathtub. Then he went back to the rest of his breakfast, trying not to watch as she—oh, so slowly—stripped off her smallclothes and the nightshirt she'd been wearing. She was so beautiful, he thought, tall and slender and curvy. His throat went dry and he swallowed hard.

Una tried hard not to look at him, but the glances she snuck were having their effect on her, too. If she hadn't needed his help just to walk to the bathtub, she might have relented then and there. But she didn't think she was quite up to the activity right now. Instead, she sank down into the tub, scrubbing vigorously. When she was ready to get out, though, there he was, holding out the towel, helping to steady her as she dried off, helping her back to bed. Then, with a dark glance at her, he stripped off his shirt, and then his pants and smallclothes. Una caught her breath in an audible gasp. Alistair turned around to look at her, noting with pleasure that her eyes had gone that particular shade of green they did when she was aroused, and she was licking her lips as she stared at him.

He cleared his throat. Una jumped, blushing. "Okay," she said breathlessly, "that was a falter. But I haven't lost yet."

"Just wait," he said. "You will."

Feeling better already, he got into the tub. Una definitely enjoyed the show—the ripple of muscles as he moved, the way the water rolled down his back, the little song he hummed while he scrubbed. Perhaps losing wouldn't be so bad after all, she thought_._


	29. Alistair

_Thanks for reading!_

* * *

Alistair was fixing his hair, remarking on how nice it was to have a proper mirror to do so in, when a soft knock came at the door.

"Come in," called Una. And they did. Leliana, Zev, the mabari, Wynne, Bann Teagan, and Lady Isolde. The room really wasn't big enough for all of them, but they were all concerned and wanted an update. Una was able to fill the Bann and the Arlessa in on their progress so far in the quest for the Urn, and to tell Teagan about their return to Ostagar, and how they had seen to it that honor was done to Cailan's body. The Bann wept when he heard what the darkspawn had done to his nephew.

She had wondered how Alistair was going to handle their relationship when it came to people outside their party, assuming he'd be uncomfortable, but she had reckoned without his possessive streak. He remembered Teagan's attempts at flirting with her the last time they'd been at Redcliffe and wanted to make sure he sent the message loud and clear. So he lounged on the bed next to her the whole time, touching her affectionately as often as he could work it in. He figured this did double duty, since he could make it clear who she belonged to and make some progress toward winning the challenge at the same time. Teagan didn't seem overly interested in the situation, but Una's breathing sped up when he touched her, which made him happy, and Arlessa Isolde's eyes were like saucers staring at the two of them, which was satisfying in a whole different way. He might understand why he'd had to be kicked out of the castle, but it still rankled that Arl Eamon's wife thought so little of him.

Alistair was very solicitous over dinner later, as well. He'd had to help her down to the dining room—the leg was improving, but slowly—and then Perth was there at the table. But it wasn't all just about marking his territory. Every time she leaned on him, or asked his opinion about something they were doing, it made his heart swell with pride that this strong woman needed him. He'd spent so much of his life being told how completely unnecessary he was that it made it extra-special to be needed by someone here, in front of some of the very people who had given him that message. Una could sense some of what he was feeling, so she played along. It was nice for her, too, to be able to lean on someone, to be treated like a lady (as opposed to a Lady), to allow herself to be loved and taken care of.

After dinner, Wynne decreed that Una had been up long enough and it was time to go back to bed. The mage inspected the leg wound again once they were back in the room. "It looks much better. How does it feel?"

"Mostly stiff," Una said. "I suspect from all the time lying down. I think I'll be fine tomorrow."

"We'll take the day off," Wynne said decisively. "A rest now could save us all later, isn't that what you said to me in the Tower?"

"I did," Una said. "Glad to know you were listening."

Wynne smiled affectionately at the younger woman. "When I was your age, young lady, children had more respect for their elders."

"Respectfully, I'll bet you didn't," Una replied, grinning.

"Maybe not," Wynne conceded. She looked sternly at Alistair. "Let her get some rest, young man."

"Of course," he said. "That shouldn't be a problem." He directed a pointed glance at Una.

"Ah, the trouble you mentioned," Wynne murmured to Una, who nodded. "Good luck," the mage said, her eyes twinkling, as she left the room.

Una stood in the middle of the room. She looked at Alistair. "So, um, what shall we do?"

"I thought I might go down to the library," he said casually. "Do some research on Haven, maybe. It's still fairly early." He brushed past her, as if by accident, and she smelled his cologne, which always made her weak in the knees.

He really wasn't going to make this easy for her, Una thought. She caught his hand, bringing it up to her lips, kissing the palm and then nibbling at his wrist. He drew in his breath sharply, not having expected her to capitulate so openly. Suddenly her hands were at the buttons of his shirt, her mouth following the opening down his chest, stopping to tease his nipples, then moving across his stomach. On her knees now, she looked up at him as he stood, frozen, hoping to the Maker that she wouldn't stop, and she undid his belt. Pushing down his pants and smallclothes, she took him in her hand and then into her mouth, as his hands tangled in her hair and he moaned.

As he felt his release begin to build, with all his will he managed to push her back. Grasping her hands, he pulled her up until she was standing. Both of them were panting. His hands busy with the ties of her dress, he said breathlessly, "Tell me."

"What?" She stepped out of the dress as it pooled at her feet and removed her smallclothes.

He held her by the shoulders, his eyes searching her face. "Tell me you want me."

She drew his hand between her legs, whimpering softly as his fingers made contact with her most sensitive spot. "Can't you feel how much I want you?"

Alistair's fingers pressed up inside her. "Tell me you need me," he said, thrusting into her rhythmically, feeling her move with him.

"Oh, Maker, Alistair, I need you. I need you now, please," she whispered, her knees buckling.

He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the bed. His hands stroked her body, sliding up the inside of her uninjured thigh to resume his attentions between her legs. "Tell me you love me," he whispered raggedly.

"Of course I love you," she breathed, arching up against him. "You're everything I've ever wanted. My lover, my shield," she said, grasping his shoulders and pulling him down to her. And at last he filled her, kissing her tenderly, moving slowly inside her, letting the tension build to its peak.

When their bodies had calmed somewhat, she nuzzled up against his neck like a contented cat. "Satisfied with your victory?"

"Well …" he said, pretending to ponder. "Ow!"

She poked him again for good measure.

"It wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked. "Losing?"

"No," Una said thoughtfully. "Not to you." She sat up on her elbows, looking at him. "Thank you."

"For winning? That's new," he said in surprise.

"No, not that. And don't expect to win next time, either," she said. "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"Thank you for letting me," he said, laughing. "It would have been much more difficult if you'd been hissing and clawing at me like a cat the whole time."

"I'll keep that in mind," she murmured, resting her head on his chest, feeling the strong arms fold around her.

The next day, Una took charge of restocking and going over their supplies. Bann Teagan and the Arlessa looked around for warmer clothes for the party, as Haven was nestled deep in the Frostback Mountains and likely to be quite cold. Zev grumbled about that, missing the warmth of Antiva. "What a chilly country you all insist upon living in," he said.

Leliana shot him a sympathetic glance. "Val Royeaux was much warmer than this," she said. "Perhaps some day when this is all over, we could visit some more tropical climes."

Una glanced curiously at her friend, surprising a faint blush on the bard's face. Zev's face remained impassive, but was there a hint of something in his eyes? Una couldn't tell, and he wouldn't meet her gaze.

As the daylight waned, Una and Alistair met in the library. "What are we looking for?" he asked.

"Anything on the Urn, or the Temple of Andraste."

"I can tell you all sorts of things," he said. "Chantry training and all that."

"I know, and you're very useful, my darling, but I'd like a little information in my own head, as well."

He handed her a couple of books. "Try these." Turning back to the shelves, he rummaged through a few more titles.

"What are you looking for?"

"Old histories. I know Arl Eamon used to collect them. I thought some of them might have more about Haven. Aha!" He pulled a thick tome off the shelf. They both curled up in chairs, reading quietly. It was such a normal, homey moment, it made Una think longingly of days after the Blight when they could just be a couple spending the evening together. She lifted her head, watching him as he bent over his book, so serious and absorbed.

Eventually, she decided she'd gotten all she was going to get from her books. Alistair had a stack of them piled up next to him, and was still so deep into them that he only nodded when she said she was going to go look in on Grenli.

On her way to the kennels, she walked by the Arlessa's sitting room. Hearing Alistair's name, she paused outside the half-open door. Okay, so eavesdropping was never a good idea, but if the Arlessa had something to say about Alistair, Una wanted to hear it.

"Did you see that embarrassing display last night? Fawning all over her like that?"

"Actually, it looked quite mutual to me." It was Bann Teagan's voice, sounding faintly amused.

"I can't believe a woman like that would look twice at that … boy. She used to be a noblewoman!"

Teagan laughed. "She was never the type of noblewoman to settle for some pasty-faced second son. I think Alistair is quite a good choice for her—young, attractive, intelligent. Clearly they share a sense of humor, and they seem to like each other. Why not?"

"Because he's a worthless bastard brat that even the Chantry didn't want," Isolde said heatedly. "He's always gotten better than he deserved, not that I can see why."

"Actually," Teagan's voice was hard as steel and sharp as a knife blade, "he has always deserved much better than we've done for him. And I would watch my tongue if I were you, Isolde. Or learn to use it with a softer edge."

"Why should I?"

Teagan paused for a moment. Apparently Isolde didn't know Alistair's true parentage, Una thought. Interesting. Finally, Teagan said, laughing a little, as though he'd just thought of it himself, "Are you aware of who she is?"

"Una? She's a Grey Warden."

"She's a Teyrna."

"I thought they give up their titles when they join the Order."

"Usually they do. But these are unusual times and she's the last of a very prominent Fereldan family. I suspect an exception might be made. So if things between them go the way they seem to be heading, that 'worthless bastard brat' you have such an unreasonable antipathy to could easily become Teyrn of Highever. That's a future I think you might want to consider getting used to, Isolde." He paused, then spoke again, "He's been treated badly by almost everyone he's ever encountered, made to feel unwanted almost everywhere he's ever gone. And he's still managed to turn out to be a man of intelligence and honor who is out there trying to put our country back together. I find him impressive. And since those two young people are the only way your husband is ever going to be restored to health, I think you owe them a bit more respect."

Hearing Teagan get up, Una hastily moved the rest of the way down the hallway and was around the corner before she heard him leave the room. Her estimation of Teagan had gone up—she appreciated that he could see what a fine man Alistair had become, despite a lifetime of mistreatment. The Arlessa, on the other hand … Una was not impressed. She understood that Isolde was under great strain, between Connor and the Arl, but to blame Alistair for that? Una would have a hard time forgiving the woman for her harsh words.


	30. First

_A short one today, with more smut. Have to take advantage of that real bed before it's back to bedrolls on the hard, cold ground! Thanks for reading!_

* * *

By nightfall they were repacked and ready to head out for Haven in the morning. Una had recommended that everyone get a decent night's sleep, so they all turned in relatively early. She headed back to her room, finding Alistair already there. A roaring fire was burning in the fireplace, the bed was turned down invitingly, and he held a bouquet of lovely flowers, probably stolen from the Arlessa's forcing house.

Una closed the door behind her. "Who are those for?"

"I thought Grenli might like them," he said.

"Very thoughtful of you, but they make him sick."

"I guess I'll have to give them to you, then." They grinned at each other.

Una took the flowers, burying her nose in them. "They're lovely, my darling."

"Una," he said. "This is the way I wanted our first time to be. Special, you know."

She looked at him. "You weren't happy with our first time?"

"Oh, I was! And—and I couldn't have waited any longer." His voice was hoarse at the memory.

"Me, neither. I felt I'd waited long enough already."

"I love you, Una. I still … have a hard time believing that someone like you really cares for me. It might take me a while to get used to."

Laying the flowers gently down on a table, she put her arms around him. "I love you, too, Alistair. And I'm not going anywhere. As long as you aren't, either, you can take your time getting used to it." She blushed a little, looking away. "To tell you the truth, it's a little strange for me, too. I've been so used to being the awkward girl that no one was interested in. I wish I was better-looking."

"You're beautiful," he said, stroking her honey-blond hair. "Everyone can see it but you."

"And you're wonderful. Everyone can see that but you."

"Hmm," he said noncommittally. Taking her hand, he led her over to the bed, pulling her down onto the soft mattress. He drew her to him, kissing her gently. Slowly he kissed his way down her neck. Sliding his hands under her shirt, he pushed it up and over her head. He began nibbling softly at her shoulder. Una moaned, her fingers threading through his hair and stroking the back of his neck, feeling him shudder. Running her own hands up his back, she pushed his shirt off over his head, lowering her head to draw her mouth over the firm muscles of his chest. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her up so he could claim her lips again. They lay back onto the pillows, their hands wandering over each other's bodies while they kissed.

Alistair reached around her back, unhooking her breastband. "I can't believe I found you in all of this," he whispered. He took her breasts in his hands, massaging them gently, his thumbs rubbing her nipples. Una gasped, arching her back. She'd always thought her breasts were too small, but he didn't seem to find them lacking. He bent down and took one of her nipples in his mouth, suckling gently as she moaned. She shifted restlessly beneath him, wrapping one leg around the back of his thighs, undulating against him, her hands gripping his shoulders.

He sat up, breaking contact. Una whimpered at the sudden chill. "Patience," he said, chuckling.

"Not my strong suit," she said, trying to pull him back to her.

He laughed, sliding his hands under the waistband of her pants, pulling them gently off. His hands gently caressed her legs, and he nipped at the back of her knee, kissing his way up the outside of her thigh, one hand reaching between her legs and caressing her through her smallclothes. Una moaned again, thrusting against his hand. Needing to feel his mouth on hers, she sat up, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. She shifted so she was sitting in his lap, and she couldn't help rubbing herself against him. It was his turn to moan, pushing up against her. Then she pressed him back against the pillows, unfastening his breeches and sliding them off him. She crawled up across his chest, making sure to stroke him with her bare breasts. He drew in a sharp breath as she slithered over him, her mouth meeting his again, kissing him hungrily. Their bodies rubbed together, creating a heated friction. As if by agreement, they both removed their smallclothes, and Una shifted to take him inside her. Groaning, he thrust up into her as she came down on him. Alistair sat up, holding her to him as they rocked together. The feeling was exquisite, and they never wanted it to end, clinging to each other and moving slowly to make it last as long as possible.

At last they couldn't stand it anymore. Their movements became more hurried, their breathing shorter, their mouths meeting frantically as their pleasure peaked. They sank back into the bed together, holding each other close.

"So that was the way the first time was supposed to go," he said, kissing her temple.

"That was lovely. Still, I'm glad we didn't wait. I'd never have lasted this long."

"Same here." He laughed.

Una tucked her head into the curve of his neck, snuggling close and sighing.

"I'm completely spoiled now, you know. I'll never be able to sleep by myself again."

"That was the plan," she murmured sleepily.

"Una?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"When did you first—start thinking about me?"

She lifted her head, looking at him. "The moment I met you."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. The first time you shook my hand, I thought I was going to faint. I kept thinking I must sound like a gibbering idiot because I had completely forgotten how to breathe and had no idea what I was saying to you."

Alistair held her tenderly. "I couldn't tell. I was too busy thinking Duncan must have made a mistake, that you were way too young to be a Grey Warden."

"Great. So I'm falling in love with you while you're thinking I'm some kid who doesn't know what she's doing."

"Something like that." He chuckled. "It didn't take me long to get over thinking that, but it never occurred to me that someone like you might look twice at me … much less that I had any right to be thinking about you. Not until you told me you thought I was handsome."

"I thought I had completely messed things up by doing that."

"And yet here we are."

"Needing to get some sleep," she said reluctantly. "Early morning and all."

"Of course, we're Grey Wardens," he said. "We don't sleep much."

"Oh, no, you don't," she said, grabbing the hand that had started to wander down her back. "Tonight we're getting some actual sleep."

"Spoilsport."


End file.
